


spend some time with me (i really like your company)

by fencer_x



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frotting, M/M, Slow Burn, background Gueira/Meis, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21716236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: Galo Thymos is the worst hostage ever, and Lio regrets kidnapping him with every waking breath.
Relationships: Galo Thymos/Lio Fotia
Comments: 244
Kudos: 1815





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> header commissioned from @mayexplode on Twitter!

Kray Foresight liked to think himself a patient man. You had to be, really, to rise to the great heights he had with the speed and grace he’d shown. Being the youngest governor since Promepolis’s founding didn’t just _happen_ , after all. It had to be earned.

And he’d more than earned it, oh had he. He was careful ( _very_ careful). Meticulous (no detail too small). Never rash (think twice, act once). Always calculating.

Except now those calculations were adding up to a rather disturbing, disappointing truth. A truth Kray had been hoping he might avoid but was not altogether so terribly distressed he would have to face. It was only a fact—and facts were neutral. Inert. How he acted upon this knowledge—how he used it—would dictate the course of his governorship. Would dictate the fate of the very planet, in fact.

So he had to be careful. He had to be meticulous. He could not be rash—had to always be calculating.

The Parnassus needed more fuel.

The Prometech Engine _would_ be completed. It wasn’t ready quite yet, as Ardebit rushed to remind him in her nervous babbling after each test run, but he was a contemporary of Deus Prometh—had worked under the high-minded fool himself—and he could see it was but a matter of time before the capacitors were finally properly adjusted and able to store the immense power smoldering inside the bodies of the Burnish.

Then that great engine would finally be ready to power their ark—the ark _Kray_ had built, every bit the savior of humanity any god, living or dead, had ever been. He would save them, those precious few granted sanctuary aboard his ship, and they would begin their new life among the stars, freed from earthly bonds with Kray as their guiding light.

But first, _fuel_. Fuel enough to fill those capacitors to bursting, to open the black void of the wormhole to galaxies beyond and save them all. They needed fuel.

They needed _Burnish_.

Vulcan and his goons were doing what they did best: sowing fear and chaos and keeping the likes of Mad Burnish forever on their toes. But Kray didn’t need the straggling remnants of a pitiful little terrorist cell long past its day in the sun.

He needed the Burnish who hid in plain sight. The ones who shopped at the local greengrocer, the ones who played bass for no-name garage bands, the ones whose neighbors had their suspicions but minded their own business. The ones whose friends and families loved them so very much they kept their dark, destructive secret.

He needed them flushed out of hiding, stripped of the veil of protection that good manners had bestowed upon them. It wasn’t enough to snatch up the trouble-makers. The Parnassus was _ravenous_ , and sacrifices by the thousands would be needed if humanity was to survive the rapidly approaching apocalypse. He could no longer sit idly by and wait for Freeze Force to haul in stray Burnish in drips and dribbles. A flood of monumental proportions would be needed, one that raced through the pristine streets of Promepolis and beyond the boundaries of the republic.

But Promepolitans, as a rule, had entirely too big hearts and wide-open minds; what place did they have snitching on their fellow citizens?

 _Every_ place, Kray intended to teach them. And he would do so by showing these complacent milksops that _all_ Burnish—even the ones who shopped at the local greengrocer or played bass for no-name garage bands or were just a bit suspicious—had it in them to ruin the lives of decent folk. Of the _most_ decent of folks.

The people no longer feared the Burnish, as they had in the wake of the Great World Blaze. These days, the Burnish were little more than a nuisance. An inconvenience, disrupting the citizenry’s morning commute with their violent antics and wasting tax dollars on rebuilding and restoration efforts.

They would learn to fear them again.

Kray swiped his hand over a sensor, and a cool female voice echoed, _“Yes, Governor?”_

“Freeze Force are out in the Waste training for the next three weeks. Send word to Vulcan he’s to return to Promepolis immediately, won’t you, Biar? And have him bring his twelve best and burliest along. I want to see them first thing in the morning.”

_“Of course, Governor. Will that be all, sir?”_

“No…” Kray drummed his fingers along the padded arm of his chair, frowning down at the tablet in his hand. Across the screen, muted, played a video clip from a local news outlet—that infuriating idiot, earning another commendation from a Ward Manager or Neighborhood Watch or Animal Rescue Society, no doubt. He mooned out from the screen, gesturing with his full body and snatching the microphone from the reporter. Kray’s picture flashed in the top right, and the ticker scrolling across the bottom of the clip read _BURNING RESCUE’S INDOMITABLE NEWBIE GUSHES RE: GOVERNOR._

A sharp _crunch_ , and a crack snapped through the screen like a bolt of lightning, slicing squarely through that dopey, slack-jaw expression the dolt always had pasted on.

“Have Galo Thymos from Burning Rescue Squad Three join us as well.”

To her credit, Biar didn’t miss a beat, though Kray would not have blamed her if she’d faltered—he hadn’t once placed himself willingly in Galo’s presence in over a decade. _“Right away, sir. I’ll see to it your guests join you promptly at 10.”_

Kray swiveled around in his chair, pushing himself up from his seat and stepping forward to gaze out over the vast swathe of urbanity sprawling out beneath the overlook atop the Foresight Foundation’s Alpha Complex.

These people needed a savior. Someone strong, committed, principled. Someone who would stop at nothing to save those he could—someone who saw the bright, clear line stretching from where they _were_ to where they _needed to be_ , and who would stake his very life on getting there.

Using whatever means necessary.

Once the dust had settled from this little excursion Kray was planning, Galo would be the people’s hero, forever enshrined in their hearts and memories, and that would be absolutely _insufferable_ —but if it kept the Parnassus sated, if it meant the Prometech Engine could finally be brought online, then well, it was a fair enough trade. He could—he would—bear the weight of Galo’s legacy.

Kray was, after all, a very patient man.


	2. Chapter 2

It really wasn’t any easier walking into a trap when you _knew_ you were walking into one—and yet, Lio Fotia was going to do precisely that. 

He had little option otherwise, really—not when, as his scouts told it, Foresight had commandeered the airwaves of Promepolis to run his outrageous call-out ad every hour, on the hour, bemoaning the violence that plagued his little scrap of a republic and begging Mad Burnish to meet on neutral ground for parlay. Gueira and Meis thought Foresight was very stupid; Lio thought he was very smart. 

He understood, after all, that Lio couldn’t ignore this ‘summons’ (for that was what it was)—he owed it to his people, to those counting on him for safety and security, to entertain all avenues for peace while still being on the alert for what was sure to be a heinous double-crossing. If he moved their convoy further into the Waste, or if he took them into the dark north, then they might scrape by for a time without Freeze Force breathing down their necks—but only for a time. His goal was and ever would be to establish a community _of_ Burnish _for_ Burnish, and it would not be realized without eventually confronting Foresight. Either in battle or in treaty.

So today, they were going to take a chance on _treaty_ , because running away was how you survived, but talking—treating—was how you lived.

The meeting site had been proposed on Foresight’s side, but Lio hadn’t bothered objecting to it. It was near enough to the Promepolis border that any pampered republican representatives Foresight sent wouldn’t feel antsy, this close to the vast, empty Waste, yet far enough from civilization that Mad Burnish could execute a swift tactical retreat if ( _when_ ) the need arose. _Everywhere_ was dangerous and exposed when you were a wanted fugitive, so as long as his generals assured him the site was defensible, Lio took no issue.

“A shopping center, y’think?” Gueira mused, shading his eyes with one hand as they sauntered past the empty, crumbling fountain, crossing the promenade to an open space that looked to have once been used for open-air events. Lio squinted at the blocks of stone heaped in the center of the fountain, trying to make out the writing carved on the faces—to no avail. What time hadn’t begun to wear down, nature had reclaimed with writhing, probing vines that split and creeping green tendrils that hid. This place was little more than a decaying skeleton of suburbia past, not unlike so many patches outside the major remaining hubs of civilization like Promepolis. 

Lio didn’t really care what it had once been. It was enough that now it was open, wide and flat, with good eyelines and a fair few places to hide if the option to retreat was taken away.

He didn’t intend for that to happen.

Meis lifted an arm up, then bent it back behind his head, leaning into the stretch with a grunt. “So what exactly’s the plan here, Boss?”

“He means how long do we have to wait ‘til we can fry their asses,” Gueira translated unhelpfully, flicking a Burnish flare at Meis, who batted it away absently. 

Lio tracked the perimeter with a slow, lingering gaze. He could see where each and every one of their five backup squads was positioned, but with any luck, Freeze Force wouldn’t. They’d performed recon on the site for the past three days straight, just to be certain they weren’t walking straight into an ambush, but one could never be too careful when being hunted by the government.

“We don’t fire first. If this meeting goes sour, it’ll be because they reneged on their offer of neutrality for these talks.”

“ _When_ this meeting goes sour…” Meis muttered under his breath, scrubbing at the back of his head. “All right, I’m gonna make sure the others know to keep their cool until we give the signal, then.”

“And remember—”

“Burnish don’t kill, right right. We got you, Boss.” Meis jerked his head in Gueira’s direction. “You take the squads to the east, I’ll get the ones to the west.”

Such cheek from most anyone else would have smacked of insubordination, but Lio heard the fond notes in Meis’s long-suffering tone like a clarion. His generals didn’t always understand him—but they respected him, enough to go against their better judgment and bend over backwards to do Lio’s bidding. 

Which meant that if they died out here—if Lio’s preoccupation with optics got them _killed—_ he’d only have himself to blame.

But that was what leaders did: shouldered the blame, the responsibility, for fuck-ups of both their own making as well as beyond their control. If Foresight was ready to show similar humility, ready to come clean about whatever dark hole all the Burnish who’d been snatched up by Freeze Force over the years had been tossed into, then perhaps this ‘parlay’ wouldn’t be such a mockery after all.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was absolutely going to be a mockery.

But it would at least show his people that he was a leader who listened, who kept his options open. One who took chances and risked lives but never without putting his own on the line as well. Leading by example had always been his style, and with any luck, they’d all return to the convoy in one piece, bruised but not broken, living to fight another day in this seemingly interminable war. 

Whispers brushed against his consciousness—almost intelligible, as ever, but just out of reach. If he closed his eyes and drove his focus down to a point, he could feel their intent washing over him like a rogue wave. _Burn_ , they always said, _burn burn burn_. They were particularly insistent today, as if they knew a fight was coming, and he could feel them firing his blood.

“Soon…” he muttered—half to the voices, half to himself—and let a Burnish flare flicker in his palm before clenching his fist around it and relishing the little shivers of excitement that raced along his nerves in the doing. 

Gueira and Meis were jogging back over, flashing a thumbs-up his way—before drawing up short, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Lio followed their gazes to a dark blot closing in fast on their position. The lead car of the Freeze Force contingent Foresight would have escorting his representatives. A familiar shudder of unease rippled down Lio’s spine, but he suppressed it, straightening and squaring his shoulders. Never let them see you flinch—especially when you looked like Lio did.

Gueira and Meis took their positions flanking Lio’s either side, and Lio could feel the echo of their flames, banked just behind their fists, ready to come roaring out the moment things took a turn they didn’t like. The lead car was flanked by a squadron of five others—and while Lio did not like the sight of such a formidable escort, he was not terribly surprised to see the Governor had sent his pack of feral dogs along to intimidate. 

Mad Burnish had faced down Freeze Force on several occasions, though, and while Lio would not boast that they had escaped scot-free, they were still standing, which was more than enough. Survive for now, live later.

“Think Vulcan’s with them?” Meis said, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles.

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t,” Lio sighed. “But regardless—no false moves. Don’t let yourself be goaded.”

“Yeah,” Gueira snickered, ribbing Meis with an elbow. “Keep it cool.”

“I was talking to _you_ ,” Lio said, cutting Gueira a knowing look with a raised brow. The pair were a terrible influence on each other, and as many times as they’d saved Lio’s ass in the past, he’d had to save _theirs_. He could live without that kind of stress today, at least.

Gueira looked like he wanted to protest—but his efforts were cut short when the lead car dropped from formation, hovering mere feet over the white-hot sands of the Waste and craggy remains of what looked to have once been a huge parking lot, to come screaming into the promenade. 

Dust and debris blew up around them as the car drew to a stop and settled on the ground, and Lio spared a flicker of vanity, wondering if he was going to look ruffled and unkempt now when the representatives presented themselves. 

Such worries were dispelled, though, once the dust began to settle and the car’s gull-wing doors hissed open, spitting out someone who to Lio’s eye could not have looked further from the military or governmental archetype if he’d actually been _trying_ to do so.

He was the phrase ‘over the top’ made flesh and given life—life, and a _very_ brash, brazen voice. 

“Yo, Mr. Mad Burnish! I’d say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but the great Galo Thymos cannot tell a lie!” 

He was a giant—a full head taller than Lio, and everything about him seemed larger than life. His uniform even, stiff and starched, looked two sizes too small for his frame, bulging at the seams. Lio tried to place the uniform, raking his gaze from the man’s ridiculous haircut down to the thick, steel-toed black boots, but came up empty until his eye caught on the polished gold badge gleaming from his chest pocket: THYMOS, G. || FDDP SQUAD No. 3. 

A fucking _firefighter_.

Lio wanted to laugh—actually let out a nice, big guffaw. He’d known this was going to be a trap, but he _had_ at least assumed Foresight would take this seriously. Put on a good show, scrounge up a few desperates hanging about the lower rungs in his organization to play the part of diplomat. Instead, he’d sent _this_. ‘The great Galo Thymos.’ If Lio had wanted to parlay with an arrogant asshole who thought the sun shone out of his every orifice, he would’ve ridden Detroit straight into the heart of Promepolis and demanded an audience with Foresight himself.

“‘S this all of you there are?” Thymos had his eyes shaded, squinting about the promenade and frowning at what he saw. His escort—a pair of burly Freeze Force grunts who shadowed him from behind—stood at stiff attention. Lio marked them, signaling Gueira and Meis to keep their eyes on the rest of the squadron drawing into holding formation but a few car lengths behind the lead. “Gotta be honest, your ranks are lookin’ a little skimpy there, Mr. Mad Burnish. Guess terrorism just doesn’t have the same allure these days, eh?”

“Lio. Lio Fotia.”

“Huh?” Thymos wrinkled his nose at Lio. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“It’s my name, you nitwit. Not ‘Mr. Mad Burnish’. For someone so obsessed with his own name you gave yourself an epithet, I’d have thought you could handle remembering someone else’s as well.” Had Foresight even told this idiot what he was here for?

Thymos’s features screwed up, and he opened his mouth like he wanted to give Lio a piece of his mind—yes, every bit the burly lughead he looked—but then he snapped his mouth shut again, straightened, and tugged at what little shirt material he could grab, as if putting himself back to rights. “Fine. Is this all of you, then?”

“You were expecting more?”

“I was expecting more than a _kid_.”

“Please, you’re hardly a seasoned veteran yourself. You haven’t even got your six-month decoration on your badge.”

Thymos immediately slapped a hand over his badge protectively and turned away with a sour frown. “The hell do you kn—” He bit his tongue and made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, clearing it with a cough. “Fine then, Mr. Mad Burnish; let’s deal.”

Lio bit back the flare of offense, because there was every chance Thymos actually did have the attention span of a goldfish and truly _couldn’t_ remember any name other than his own, and crossed his arms over his chest. “All right. What have you got to offer us?”

“ _Offer_ y—” Thymos raised a finger as if to start on a tirade but once more successfully clawed back the urge. Oh yes, Foresight had been scraping the bottom of the barrel when he’d dug out _this_ one for their farce of a parlay. Thymos sighed, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a crumpled little scrap of paper. He ran his eyes over the contents, mouthing words to himself, then cleared his throat again. “Governor Foresight is prepared to allow the members of Mad Burnish—”

“ _Not_ Mad Burnish,” Lio said, because if Thymos was going to pretend this was a legitimate effort, then so would Lio. “All Burnish. Period.”

Thymos raked him with a judging look, as if he had any place doing so. “You the boss of all Burnish now?”

“Hardly. But so long as I’m in a position to do so, I’ll negotiate on behalf of those of my people not here to plead their own cases.”

Thymos shrugged. “No skin off my nose. But I can’t promise the Governor will agree to terms covering anyone outside of your little terrorist cell.”

“Then we have nothing to discuss.” He lifted a hand, signaling to Gueira and Meis.

“Hey—hold up! Geez...” Thymos scrubbed at the back of his head with a frustrated grunt. “I just said I can’t promise anything about _all_ the Burnish! We can still find some common ground for _you_ people, can’t we?”

“Shouldn’t whatever you can offer to the very worst of us also be available to the very best of us?”

“Well—I mean, okay yeah, I guess but—” Thymos sighed. “Can’t you let me at least do my spiel? I stayed up all night memorizing it!”

Lio arched a brow. “Then why do you have a cheat sheet?”

“Because I suck at memorizing things, obviously, and it didn’t work! And thank you very much for making me admit so!”

Gueira and Meis were doing a very poor job of disguising their amusement at the exchange, and Lio cut the both of them looks of warning. Lio wasn’t sure, but he thought Thymos’ two Freeze Force escorts might be similarly struggling to contain themselves under their helmets.

Thymos frowned down at the scrap of paper in his hand again, puffed out his chest, and rushed out in one swift breath, “The Governor is prepared to allow the following: abject amnesty to your rank and file members, reduced sentences of three years’ community service to any members found to have been directly involved in terrorism efforts since the Great World Blaze, free medical care and negotiable housing support, education and career guidance to those who desire it, and—”

“And a partridge in a fucking pear tree,” Gueira snorted, earning a fist-bump from Meis, and while Lio didn’t approve of their undermining his authority by speaking out of turn, he was grateful they’d put a stop to Thymos’s laundry list of pie-in-the-sky proposals. Lio had to give it to Foresight: he knew all the tunes that tugged at a Burnish’s heartstrings.

Thymos frowned at Gueira, then glanced back to his cheat sheet and seemed ready to continue his speech, so Lio saved him his breath. “For what?”

“Huh?”

“That admittedly impressive and undoubtedly generous offer in exchange...for what?”

A little bit of the confidence filling Thymos’s sails died away, and he stuffed the bit of paper back into his pocket. “For you to stop setting shit on fire for one.”

And that in itself was an impossible ask, but Lio didn’t expect Thymos understood this or that Foresight had bothered to explain as such. He folded his arms over his chest, defiant. “And?”

Thymos’s gaze flickered back to his escorts, whose stances suggested they were very bored but whose sidearms, holstered comfortably in the belts hanging at their hips, reminded they could become ‘not bored’ in the blink of an eye. “...And a few concessions with your privacy, for your own protection.” Lio scoffed, but Thymos continued on, tone gone a bit desperate. “You’ll need to let the Foresight Foundation eggheads run a few tests, just to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself or others, then you’ll receive regular evaluations after that. You’ll also be asked to stay within the borders of the republic until you’ve been cleared—”

“So we’ll be science experiments and prisoners.”

“You’ll get _care_. From people who know what they’re doing. You’ve got kids in your little group, don’t you? I’ve seen footage. They look in shit shape. Don’t they deserve proper medical attention? Don’t they deserve a roof over their heads and a decent meal? To not be on the run all the time?”

Offense flared hot in Lio’s chest at the insinuation—any injuries sported by members of the convoy were those suffered before they’d been rescued and taken in. Most of the children were too newly awakened to have fully recovered, but with time, the flames that burned everlasting within them would restore their bodies, healing all wounds and leaving them impervious to infection. _That_ was the care they needed—a chance at survival—and that was what Lio intended to see they received.

“Do _not_ speak of my people like you remotely understand what we’ve been through—or what we’re capable of.”

“I’m on Burning Rescue, Mr. Mad Burnish. I sure as hell know _exactly_ what you’re capable of.”

Lio took a step forward—and Thymos’s escort did _not_ like that one bit, their sidearms out of their holsters and aimed at Lio’s head before he could blink. Fuck, he’d have to be careful with this one. He was just the right ratio of ignorant and well-meaning to drive Lio to break his Burnish oath not to kill. Gueira and Meis would never let him live it down if _he_ were the one to make this meeting go pear-shaped.

Thymos held his hands out in a gesture of defense. “You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, so surely you can see this is a pretty sweet deal. All you and your people’ll be asked to do is make a small sacrifice in exchange for pretty much a clean slate. It’s hardly anything worse than what your average Promepolis citizen is asked—”

“High praise, indeed!” Lio scoffed. “Just because _you_ people have been convinced to give up your every right to the state doesn’t mean the rest of us are ready to swear fealty to House Foresight.”

“For fuck’s sake—no one’s asking you to _swear fealty_ , whatever the hell that even means.”

“If you don’t know what it means, how do you know we aren’t being asked that?” Lio knew he was acting childish, but his patience was growing dangerously thin. It astounded him Thymos seemed to think Foresight actually intended to follow through on any of these promises—was he truly that stupid, or simply in on the joke himself? Lio liked to think he had a nose for people, and Thymos seemed on the inside exactly what he seemed on the outside: brash, brainless, and brutally committed to justice. Lio could forgive any of those on their own, but not lumped together like this and stuffed into an ill-fitting uniform.

Thymos wiped a hand over his face, groaning. “Are you going to take this seriously, or am I wasting both our times?”

“You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Lio smiled brightly. “Why don’t you figure it out?”

He then turned on his heel and gestured for Gueira and Meis to follow—Thymos was a fool, but Lio had been an even greater one, leaping on command when Foresight shouted _Jump!_ His generals tried their best to keep him grounded, never let him spend too much time with his head in the clouds, but always he wound up giving in to hope—hope that there might be a way to end all this that _didn’t_ involve outright war. 

When _was_ he going to learn?

“Hey! Hey—where’re you going? We aren’t done here!”

Lio tossed back a rude gesture, continuing to march away. “Yes we are.”

“ _Oh no you’re not!_ ” boomed a new voice from above, and the door to one of the Freeze Force cars hovering in formation flew off its hinges, crashing to the ground at Lio’s feet. Vulcan Haestus folded himself free from the confines of his ride, which listed to the side as he hung off the frame for a long moment before releasing his grip. His armored bulk shook the ground when he landed, and Lio widened his stance a tick—he’d traded blows with Vulcan enough times to know you didn’t want to be unsteady on your feet around this particular brand of asshole. He’d knock you back with a sour look if you weren’t properly grounded.

Thymos leapt back with an inelegant yelp, frowning down at the crumpled remains of the gull-wing door that had very nearly brained him. “Watch it!” he snarled at Vulcan, evidently unashamed to publicize his death wish. “You could’ve killed someone!”

“That’s what you’re _supposed_ to do with terrorist scum,” Vulcan sniggered, flashing a mouth full of sharp, white teeth as he rolled his shoulders and neck to loosen any kinks left by the impact. “Not sit down and have tea with ‘em.”

Lio was getting the sense that negotiations were winding down and he was about to be introduced to the _real_ sort of ‘treating’ Kray Foresight offered his enemies. “Tea would’ve been nice, but we’ve unfortunately got a prior engagement we really must get on to.”

Vulcan’s grin widened, and he began stalking forward, reaching for the cannon-sized gun strapped to his back and palming it one-handed. “Oh I think we’ll need to ask you to stick around a little longer. Got a nice room prepped just for you, too.” He waved his free arm over his head in a wide circle, and the remaining cars hovering above dropped from formation like stones, crashing to earth and spinning out as everything went to shit in three seconds flat. 

In the time it took Vulcan to take aim with what had to be some sort of specially modified _bazooka_ , Lio had signaled to his seconds to get in gear before promptly doing the same himself. 

Foresight wanted to study them—to pick them apart, to maybe try and put them back together. To reduce Burnish down to numbers and formulae, when he’d learn as much from such efforts as he would from simply _asking_ them how they did what they did. The answer would be the same: it just _was_. The flames were a part of them—part of their bodies, part of their minds, part of their souls. And when they wanted to protect themselves, when they yearned for a shell, for _armor_ , to keep the world beyond at bay—the flames complied.

Black gunmetal flowed up his arms and over his shoulders and down his chest to twine round his legs, and his helmet fit itself over his head like some great jungle snake opening its maw to swallow him from the neck up, encasing him in warm, dark silence. 

The first time he’d caught his reflection in his armor, he’d nearly wet himself. Its manifestation had been a defense reaction, after all, and he’d not been prepared to face the imposing figure staring back through his own eyes. He’d spent some time after mulling over the form his flames had chosen, wondering why he looked like some sort of demented humanoid unicorn, before recalling the handsome tapestries he’d seen hanging in a museum once. The plaque beside the pieces had explained that unicorns were symbols of pride, of defiance—a refusal to be taken captive, freedom from bondage. He wore his armor as a badge of honor now and would have traded it for no other form, sleek as Meis’s armor or imposing as Gueira’s armor might have been.

No sooner had he clad himself in black flame, though, than Vulcan opened fire. Lio took the shots to the chest, and while they did not penetrate his thick armor, they did shove him back several lengths. He leapt back clear of another volley just as Gueira came racing in on Miami, and Vulcan’s shots fizzled, impotent, against Gueira’s impressive bulk. 

Meis had signaled the other squads to come join in on the fun, and while Lio appreciated the sentiment, they weren’t here to _fight_ , they were here to _flee_ —

“What the—what the _fuck_ , man?!” Thymos screeched, scrambling over the debris-stridden asphalt in an effort to get clear of the firefight unfolding before his very eyes. He stumbled to his knees, falling back onto his ass, and gaped stupidly at Vulcan, evidently lacking the good sense to use those long, lanky legs to find himself a nice, safe hiding spot while Freeze Force and Mad Burnish duked it out. 

Someone’s flameshot went wide, carving out a new pothole right between Thymos’s legs, and _that_ got him onto his feet again—except instead of retreating, as he ought to have, the _complete and utter fool_ reached for a sidearm holstered inside his jacket and pulled out a single-chamber Freeze Pistol that would do little more than piss off Lio’s squad. He held the weapon with a surety that said he’d practiced—a _lot_ —but he didn’t seem quite sure where to aim, wavering between the Freeze Force goons flooding from the cars pulling into range and Lio’s backup. 

Of course; he’d seen Vulcan had been the first to fire and was pissed his negotiations had been undermined. There went the Medal of Peace that probably would’ve been his for the taking had he convinced Lio to roll over and accept Foresight’s terms. Things were decidedly not going well today for the Great Galo Thymos.

Lio laid down cover fire to protect Thymos from the flame and frost flying back and forth across the promenade. “Get under cover, you idiot,” he spat, praying his voice wasn’t distorted beyond recognition by the armor. “You’re right in the line of fire.”

Thymos responded with a round of Freeze Fire right in Lio’s face, and Lio decided he’d done his good deed for the day. His efforts were better spent helping those who might actually _appreciate_ his aid. He certainly wasn’t going to let his fighters get hauled in on account of this fool.

Gueira and Meis were tag-teaming Vulcan, but it was a losing battle. Their efforts had bought Lio enough time to organize a tactical retreat, though, and he let fly a brilliant flare, ordering his squads to stand down and retreat while he, Gueira, and Meis beat back the Freeze Force agents trying to follow. Gueira threw up a wall twice his height and just as thick, and Meis danced atop it, slinging and slashing at anyone fool enough to approach. Lio picked off Freeze Fire that threatened to bring down the wall, counting under his breath the precious seconds they needed to hold this position. If Vulcan ordered any of his men to break off and follow after the fleeing Burnish, or if their Freeze Fire managed to break through Gueira’s walls quicker than he could rebuild them, then—

“Negotiations—aren’t— _over yet_!” Thymos grunted, dragging himself around to flank them and leveling his pathetic little pistol at Lio’s back. It was enough to distract Gueira, though, for he whipped around with an alarmed, “ _Boss!_ ” and the loss of focus brought his carefully constructed wall tumbling down. Meis leapt clear before he too was caught in the chaos, and Vulcan’s Freeze Fire pelted the area, the force of the blast knocking Lio onto his back and forcing him to execute a one-handed save as he back-vaulted onto his feet once more. 

To his great shock, though, Vulcan wasn’t pressing his advantage. No, he was just stalking forward with a mad grin—madder than usual—plastered on his face that only widened with each plodding stop. “Some days, yanno—some days, this job can be a real fuckin’ drag. Like when I gotta take the boys out into the middle of fuckin’ nowhere to do drills for three weeks straight. Then it ain’t worth the paycheck. But other times…times like today? Well, kindamakes me wish I’d voted for the Governor, if I’d given a shit about politics. He knows how to have a little fun, that one.” He flashed those wicked teeth once more, gun leveled straight at Lio’s visor—before swiveling to the side to take aim at _Thymos_.

“What the f—” was all Thymos managed before Vulcan unleashed a short of Freeze Fire, square into his chest.

In the blink of an eye, Thymos was encased in a frigid tomb, and Lio had _never_ been so glad to be wearing his helmet. The expression of bald shock on his face would not have done his reputation any favors.

He’d seen Freeze Fire before. He’d seen his own people caged in ice and hauled off.

But his people were _Burnish_. They could survive the trauma—it was painful, it was humiliating, but it wasn’t _fatal_.

For a run-of-the-mill human? It was a death sentence.

Vulcan tutted under his breath, whapping the barrel of his gun against his fist. “Pity, that.”

_Pity_? Lio wanted to laugh—and the ridiculous expression permanently frozen onto Thymos’s features now was not helping matters a bit. “…You _shot him_. He’s _your_ man!”

“ _I_ shot him?” Vulcan gasped in inexpertly feigned shock. “No—I don’t think that’s how it went at all. In fact…” He cocked his head, regarding Thymos with a curious frown. “I’m pretty sure it was _you_ lot that killed him. We just preserved the body.” He threw a glance over his burly shoulders at the Freeze Force agents closing in. “Ain’t that right?”

As a unit, the soldiers released a sharp _ooh!_ of agreement. “Y’see?” Vulcan said, hefting his gun up once more and leveling it between Lio’s eyes. “I think you’re mistaken.”

Lio shunted aside his confusion—there were petty machinations going on here that he just didn’t have the wherewithal to unpack at the moment—and focused instead on getting himself and his generals out with all their limbs intact. Their flames could heal and restore, but that didn’t mean getting shot didn’t hurt like a _bitch_ all the same.

Gueira and Meis had been forcibly separated and had four guns on them each, and Vulcan looked like he was very strongly considering just offing the three of them then and there instead of hauling them in for whatever demented plans Foresight had for them.

Was that all this had been? A trap, to lure them out into the open for capture? Entirely possible—but then why had Thymos been involved? He’d seemed perfectly genuine and breathtakingly stupid—hardly laudable traits but not offensive. He’d looked no more thrilled with Vulcan’s actions than Lio had been. A patsy, perhaps? But for what purpose, if Vulcan had seen fit to _kill him_?

It didn’t matter. _None_ of this mattered—Promepolis had its problems, and the Burnish had their problems, and never the twain should meet. 

It was time for them to leave and let Foresight clean his own house.

Lio drove his focus down to a fine point, waiting—waiting—waiting until he saw the twitch of Vulcan’s finger on the trigger, and then he unleashed his flames through the soles of his wicked-tipped boots, bounding upward and blanketing the ground in a thick, dark wave of Burnish smoke. At his apex, he called up his bow construct, squinting to see through the billowing smoke, and let fly eight arrows of black flame, knocking back Gueira and Meis’s guards in one fell swoop.

His generals didn’t need telling twice, and pelting out from the smoke came Dallas and Miami, their riders cheering their narrow escape with loud, gleeful cackles. They made to circle back around, but Lio signaled them away—this was not a fight they had any hope of winning, and the longer they dawdled here, the greater the chance their squad would get run down, or their convoy would be sighted. Escape was what was most important right now—escape and survival.

Vulcan leapt clear of the smoke cloud with a harsh bark, launching a fist into Lio’s face. He braced his arms and took the blow, plummeting back to earth and hollowing out a small crater when he hit. His armor could take a beating—Lio himself was not quite so capable. He closed his eyes and conjured Detroit, praying the impact hadn’t addled his brains so much he left off one of the wheels, and it was only the sharp whistling of the wind that warned him to leap aside, barely missing taking a Freeze Fire round to the head. Nimbly side-stepping another three rounds, he hopped up onto his bike and peeled out, circling the Freeze Force squadron in several wide laps to throw up more choking Burnish smoke and hopefully disguise their retreat. Freeze Force would eventually track them down again—they always managed to do so—but Lio could give their convoy a good head start if he could at least stall the chase a bit.

Through the churning smoke, though, he glimpsed Thymos’s icy coffin, just sitting there. Vulcan had shot him—shot him, and blamed it on Mad Burnish. An accident, perhaps—but Kray Foresight didn’t allow accidents. He didn’t leave anything to chance. He calculated and machinated and had a plan for _everything_. 

Which meant he’d had a plan for Galo Thymos: A plan wherein Lio had killed him.

_Burn burn burn_ , the insistent little whispers urged. _Embrace the Inferno._

And Lio didn’t quite know what that meant, but he was going to be _damned_ if he went along with any plan of Foresight’s. He drew his flame into the palm of his fist, waving his arm until it spiraled out into a loop with a wicked black hook at the end. On his final pass, he jerked the whip out and drove the hook through the ice block, securing the remaining length to Detroit’s fender. It would not be a pleasant ride, not in the least, but it would be a ride that took them well away from here.

Because Galo Thymos was not dead yet (probably not, at least), but Lio didn’t doubt he would be before Vulcan returned to Promepolis to deliver carefully manipulated word of what had transpired.

Burnish don’t kill without reason, he liked to boast—and leaving someone to die was, in Lio’s book, just as bad.

So with an ice block full of half-dead Crisis Negotiator trailing behind him, Lio showed the remains of Freeze Force a choice finger—and then opened Detroit’s throttle and ran.


	3. Chapter 3

Losing Freeze Force was a much simpler matter than Lio had come to expect, further fueling his suspicion that the negotiations had been little more than window dressing for this scheme of Foresight’s that appeared to involve the unwitting and untimely sacrifice of the Great Galo Thymos. 

“We really gonna drag that thing all the way back to the rendezvous point, Boss?” Gueira asked, slowing down to ride alongside the ice block and peering through his visor at their snap-frozen tagalong. “He looks a little dead.”

“He’ll be fine, once he’s warmed up.” Probably. Lio had absolutely no evidence on which to base his statement, but he needed time to organize his own thoughts on what had just transpired before he worried about how to explain it to his seconds—or the rest of the convoy.

He was the leader of Mad Burnish. His job was to protect his people, to rescue his fellow Burnish when they awakened and teach them to be proud of what they were, to not fear their own power. He wasn’t here to rescue blind idiots from themselves, or to clean up Foresight’s messes. He had dozens counting on him to keep them safe, to stand between them and the forces who would do them harm for something over which they hadn’t an ounce of control.

…Except right now, Thymos was just as helpless and hunted as the Burnish. For whatever reason, Vulcan had tried to kill him and seemed intent on placing the blame squarely on Burnish shoulders. If nothing else, Lio owed it to his people to interrogate Thymos, find out what he knew, and try to put a stop to whatever mischief Foresight was planning.

Of course, this was all predicated on Thymos _not_ being dead. 

They rode until nightfall, and through until daybreak—pausing only for the occasional piss and to stretch their cramping legs. Thymos was still frozen solid inside the ice block, now covered in road grime and pockmarked with pebbles and the frosty splattered remains of the odd unfortunate insect. Thymos was almost _certainly_ dead, Lio reminded himself, but he’d committed to this bizarre mission now, and he wanted to see it through to the end. Gueira and Meis must have seen his stubborn determination in the set to his shoulders, for neither offered to hitch the block to their rides and trade off hauling it.

It was early twilight, a full day and then some after they’d left Vulcan in that glorified abandoned parking lot, when they finally reached the foothills. The veins of coal that shot through the hills had once, centuries back, turned this area into a booming little settlement. But the inexorable advance of technology and innovation took no prisoners, and the demand for coal had dried up long before the mines had. The town had been dead for decades before the Great World Blaze had swept through and lit the seams up like mid-day, and thirty years on, the veins still burned high and bright and hot. Hot enough, Lio had been confident, to disguise them from thermal imaging should Freeze Force—or intrepid bounty hunters with a death wish—come snooping out here in the Waste. It wasn’t home, but it was haven enough for them to pause, catch their breath, and regroup. A welcome rest stop on their way to rejoin the convoy.

“You two go check in with the squads—make sure we’re all present and accounted for and let me know if anyone’s injured. We can’t afford to dawdle long enough to let them heal, so the wounded will have to ride double if they can’t construct a bike themselves.”

Meis cut a frown at the block of ice Lio was unhitching from Detroit. “You sure one of us shouldn’t be here? In case he tries something funny?”

“If he’s even still alive, he’ll be so frostbitten and dehydrated I doubt he’ll be able to string more than two words together—I’m certain I can handle him.”

Meis didn’t seem convinced, but Gueira looped an arm around his neck and forcibly dragged him away despite ardent vocal protests. Lio flashed him a quick smile of gratitude and turned back to the ice block, ready to set to work.

He tugged off his gloves—this would require a delicate touch, and he worked best channeling his flame with bare hands. “Don’t be dead, idiot…” he muttered under his breath. “It took a lot out of me, hauling you all this way…”

He laid both hands, palms flat, against the surface of the block. He felt nothing, though he knew the ice to be frigid. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt cold—or the last time he’d felt hot. His flames shielded him from fluctuating temperatures, which was wonderful in the dead of winter when you’d worn the soles of your boots clean through, but came with its own sort of melancholy. 

On the other side of the ice, the Great Galo Thymos gaped stupidly up at Lio, and he wondered if he was still conscious. Were his neurons still firing? Had he had any functioning neurons to begin with? Perhaps Lio was giving him too much credit. If nothing else, he seemed distressingly gullible, and while Lio could deal with ignorant, he could not countenance _willfully_ ignorant.

He closed his eyes, drilling his focus down to little pinpoints at his fingertips, and then began to weave. With his hands, he painted the surface of the ice block with a web of heat and light and fire, and little by little, the frost melted, cracks formed, and slush fell away like dross. He kept his strokes even, carving away the ice over Thymos’s broad shoulders and square jaw and sharp hips. All good looks, no good sense, this one. 

As he worked, slowly more and more of Thymos revealed itself, exposed once again to the elements, and Lio gentled his touch, drawing back his flame so as not to burn, just warm. The frozen skin pinked as blood began to flow once more, and Lio felt a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying ease across his shoulders. Sure, he might be a bit brain damaged from the ordeal (and being dragged hundreds of miles behind a near-sentient motorbike), but it looked like the Great Galo Thymos would live to brag another day.

He massaged the corded muscles over Thymos’s chest, pumping warmth and sparks of life into the heart he could feel struggling to find its rhythm again beneath the layers of flesh. He had to fight the whispering urge to pour more of himself into the effort, to flood Thymos’s veins with flame and heat as he would any fading Burnish—Thymos talked a big game, but underneath it all, he was only human, and so he had to be brought back around slowly and carefully, coaxed gently like early sparks. 

A soft little wheeze of exhalation announced breath returning once more to Thymos’s lungs, and Lio allowed himself a tiny, contented smile. If Foresight wanted this man dead, he was going to have to try a bit harder next time, it seemed. 

The last of the slush sloughed away, soaking the hardpack beneath Lio’s boots, and Lio took up the hand nearest to him, gently massaging until the fingertips turned a healthy pink and the skin turned red when pinched. 

“…There’s worse ways to wake up than to a pretty girl holding my hand,” Thymos rasped, the corners of his lips twitching in what Lio took to be a failed attempt to smile.

He dropped Thymos’s hand—but a misplaced sense of guilt had him promptly reaching for the other to repeat his ministrations. “I’m not a girl, Galo Thymos.”

Thymos’s lips stopped twitching up and started twitching down. He blinked rapidly at Lio, squinting. “…Shit, no you’re not. Mr. Mad Burnish.” The fingers Lio was massaging spasmed, and Lio wondered if Thymos was trying to lift his hand. “I…I can’t see.”

“There’s nothing _to_ see. It’s nightfall, and we haven’t built a fire.”

“Oh.” Thymos was quiet a moment, then muttered half to himself, “…Thought I was going blind.”

“Better blind than dead.”

“Well, yeah, but—wait, what?” With astonishing effort, Thymos managed to lift his head, still squinting at Lio as if not entirely convinced he _wasn’t_ half-blind. “What the hell are you _doing_?”

Lio snapped his fingers, launching a spark overhead to cast its pale glow over the two of them. Thymos winced, perhaps thinking Lio meant to attack him, then blinked in wonder up at the little spark floating above them. He lifted his free hand, weak and trembling, as if to touch it, and Lio hissed a warning.

“Reviving you, if it isn’t obvious. And I’ve done a very good job of making sure I didn’t burn you in the doing, so I’ll thank you not to undo my efforts five seconds after regaining consciousness.” He shooed the flame a bit further away, out of Thymos’s reach in case he got any ideas. “Aren’t you Burning Rescue? One would think you’d know better than to try to catch a Burnish flame bare-handed.”

“Eh, doesn’t look so hot,” Thymos protested easily. “And I’ve tangled with Burnish flames before, and I’m still kicking.”

“Hm,” was all Lio said, Thymos’s ludicrous claims flowing in one ear and out the other. Finished with the hands now, he shifted his attentions further down Thymos’s body. “Hold still, I’m not done with your legs.”

“My legs are—” Thymos started, then frowned down at himself. “…What the hell did you do to me? Why can’t I move my legs?”

“You can’t move your legs because you’ve been frozen solid for the past thirty-six hours. I’m shocked you’re still alive at all, let alone running your mouth—but if you’ve retained feeling in your upper limbs, there’s hope for your lower limbs as well, I expect.”

Before Lio could advise him otherwise, Thymos shifted up onto his elbows, groggy and weary, to watch Lio work. “…You kidnapped me?”

“I _saved_ you. Or do you not recall how you came to be frozen solid to begin with?”

“I—” Thymos blinked stupidly, gaze gone distant. “…No. No, I don’t.” He glanced around, taking in the mean little cave they’d carved out of the hillside for shelter. It could have been an animal’s burrow and smelled of dirt and mud and the ever-present stench of black smoke from the fires raging still in the mines deep below. Lio had camped in worse conditions, but Thymos probably had not.

Lio shook his head, rolling up the soaked fabric of Thymos’s trousers as best he could and laying hands to Thymos’s calves. “Your own escort turned on you. Shot you square in the chest with Freeze Fire.”

“Bullshit,” Thymos spat, as if on instinct.

Lio shrugged. “I’d wager you’ll have a nice big bruise to show for it once your circulation improves, so no need to take me at my word.” Once satisfied with the give of the muscle under his fingers, he moved to the other leg. “Though if you suspect otherwise, I’m all ears.”

“Of course I suspect otherwise. Freeze Force were there to keep _you_ in check. They’ve got no reason to turn on me.”

“No reason you’re aware of, evidently.” Lio rolled Thymos’s trouser legs back down, then eased to his feet and drew his gloves on once more. “You don’t strike me as the most well-informed sort, though.”

“You little—” Thymos scrambled to his feet—which was a mistake, for he tottered like a newborn fawn, slamming into the earthen wall and slumping back to the ground in a heap of limbs, huffing in pain. “Shit.”

“Indeed. I’d give myself five minutes to stretch and gather my strength before I tried that again, if I were you. I wasn’t joking when I said you ought to be dead—Freeze Fire isn’t meant to be turned on ordinary humans.”

Thymos somehow found the energy to scoff at the implication. “You can’t put out this fire quite so easily—a spirit’s the only thing that ought to burn, and mine’s an inferno!”

Whatever that was supposed to mean. Lio settled back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Thymos try to put himself back together. “So you’ve no idea why they were trying to kill you?”

“I told you,” Thymos grunted, lips screwed into a petulant frown. “They _weren’t_. I must’ve gotten in the way of the shot—”

“Vulcan Haestus isn’t one to miss a shot. Surely the Great Galo Thymos ought to know that.” That shut him up, and Lio pressed his advantage while he had silence to speak into. “So I’d like to know why he’d aim a shot at _you_. A Burning Rescue newbie with no apparent skill in negotiation or an ounce of tact and who can’t even be bothered to remember my name. Why would the leader of Freeze Force, your _security_ out here in the Waste, try to kill you? Why would he try to kill you…and blame it on me?”

Thymos let a beat of silence pass, perhaps thinking Lio meant to pile on more questions, before he said, “Lio-something.”

“What?”

“I _did_ remember your name. Lio. Lio-something.”

“If you’ve forgotten half of it, that’s not remembering it.”

“And I told you I’m shit at remembering stuff, so if you’ve got such a great memory yourself, remember _that_ and cut me some slack.” Thymos managed to haul himself into a sitting position but decided against another attempt to stand and instead placed his back against the wall alongside Lio. He flexed and relaxed his fingers, working them carefully. “…And about all the other stuff, I don’t know. Maybe he’s got a grudge against me.”

“Do you have a history?”

Thymos shrugged. “Well—no. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him before in my life. Captain’s always the one who—” He snapped his mouth shut, glaring at Lio as if only now realizing who he was speaking to. “…I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Isn’t it your _job_ to talk to me?”

“No, my _job_ was to negotiate with you. This isn’t negotiating, this is _kidnapping_ —”

“I saved your life. Take whatever tone you like with me—I’ll certainly do the same with you—but as I said: I haven’t _kidnapped_ you.”

“So I’m free to go?”

Lio extended an arm, and Thymos predictably overexerted himself as he struggled to his feet. He took two steps before his muscles betrayed him and he collapsed again.

Lio dropped down into a crouch, elbows resting on his thighs. “I understand it may not be your forte, but try _thinking_ : why would Vulcan _possibly_ want you dead?”

“What the hell do you care?” Thymos grunted, struggling up onto his hands. His muscles visibly shook with the effort, and Lio had to admire his pluck—headstrong, brainless pluck though it was. 

“I care because it involves me and my people. I care because his attempts to kill _you_ nearly killed _us—_ and whatever you may think of Mad Burnish, we went there to meet you in good faith. You saw he was the first to fire—and while your eyesight may still be shoddy just now, it wasn’t before. You can’t have missed it.”

“…You were trying to leave.”

“As was our _right_. We were there to parlay, and when we saw your terms were bullshit, we left.”

“The terms weren’t _bullshit_!” Even in the low, flickering light of Lio’s Burnish flame, still floating over their heads, Lio could see Thymos’s cheeks had pinked with offense. “Governor Foresight was being _crazy_ generous given all the shit you people have pulled over the past three decades! Billions in property damage, a terrorized populace, countless lives lost—”

“ _That_ was not my doing. We do what we must, when we must, but Mad Burnish under my command _always_ make sure there are clear escape routes for—”

“Wow, so fucking generous,” Thymos scoffed. “You make sure people can flee their homes and abandon all their possessions when you go rampaging through their streets and blow up their neighborhoods.”

“We don’t attack _residential_ areas—”

“But you attack, all the same.” And damn but Thymos wasn’t quite as thick as Lio had assumed. That was a mistake he wouldn’t make a second time.

Lio drew himself up, taking the chance to tower imposingly over Thymos while he could. “Don’t speak about us as if you understand our plight in the _slightest_.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand. Governor Foresight probably doesn’t either, but he _wants_ to. He wants to help you, to give you food and shelter and a place where you don’t have to live in—in a fucking _cave_. He _could_ have had Freeze Force ambush you, but he didn’t! He sent me to negotiate terms with you, to show you there didn’t have to be all this pointless violence, that you had a _way out_ , and—”

“ _Wait_.” Lio narrowed his gaze. “ _Foresight_ sent you? Himself? You weren’t chosen by a committee or anything? You didn’t ask for the position?”

Thymos regarded him warily, shying away a bit. “…Yeah? So what. He knows me—he trusts me.”

“He trusts _you_?” The Foresight Lio had tangled with, the Foresight who sent Vulcan and Freeze Force around to do his dirty work, scooping up Burnish and spiriting them away to god-knew-where, was not one to trust _anyone_ lightly, let alone this holier-than-thou fool.

Thymos thrust his chest out with pride. “Sure does! And I trust him. He saved my life when I was a kid—risked his life to rescue me from a burning building. Everything I am today is thanks to him, so if he asks me to do something, I don’t question why—I just get the job done.”

Ah. So he was a yes-man. The one who took the fall when it was convenient for Foresight. Lio was beginning to get the picture, though Thymos unfortunately seemed far behind the ball. His eyes practically shimmered with unshed tears, such reverence did he appear to have for Foresight, and Lio felt revulsion clawing at his throat. It made him want to tear down Thymos’s worldview, to shatter it into pieces and crush it beneath his boot.

“It would appear you’re correct, then.”

“Huh?”

“Vulcan wasn’t trying to kill you.” Thymos brightened, until Lio continued, “Foresight was.”

And then Thymos _laughed_. Not just a derisive sputter or scoff but a great big belly laugh that probably pulled a few still-cramped muscles. “Th—that’s _ridiculous_ —I mean did you—hear a _word_ I said? Hell…” Thymos was panting, clutching his ribs. “He _saved my life_. He’s not—gonna try and— _kill_ me.”

“And yet he has.”

“Uh huh.” Thymos nodded. “And the reason he sent me out to the middle of nowhere, to offer you and your gang amnesty, with an _escort_ , instead of spiking my morning coffee was because…?” 

That, Lio unfortunately didn’t have an answer to just yet—but it would come out soon enough. Foresight worked on a grand scale; his schemes had countless little ticking parts. He’d wanted Thymos dead—or at least out of the picture—and Mad Burnish to blame for the deed. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, as he had nothing to prove to Thymos. “But I intend to find out.”

“Mm, yeah. Well good luck with that. Me?” Thymos gingerly angled his feet to take his weight, bracing both hands against the wall to help him stand. “I’m gonna head back to the city now, if it’s all the same to you. I’d wager there’s no fewer than three different Burning Rescue squads suiting up as we speak, about to head out looking for me, and I mean to make it an easy job.”

“It’s not all the same to me, actually.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t really something I was looking for input on, Mr. Mad Burnish.” He began to gingerly shuffle along the wall, stopping every few steps to catch his breath. “If this isn’t a kidnapping, like you’ve been squawking, then I’m gonna head out.”

“Leave if you like.”

“Just what I was trying to—”

“But you’ll be slaughtered before you even reach the city limits.” 

Thymos straightened, a pinched frown on his lips. “…So now you’re threatening me?”

“I’m warning you. Foresight tried to kill you once—”

“Says you.”

“—and if he sees it didn’t take, he’ll try it again. He doesn’t strike me as the type to fail twice at a given task. I expect if you involve your colleagues, then they’ll be killed as well. Unless you consider your Governor sloppy enough to leave witnesses.”

Thymos straightened. “You’ve got _no proof_ —”

“I’ve got suspicion—and you’ve got mild frostbite. You’ve either narrowly avoided an unflattering death for a firefighter or miraculously survived a murder attempt. Would you stake both yours and your friends’ lives on the fact you believe it’s the former when it might, for whatever reason, be the latter?”

Thymos stared at him, his silence telling: that he had no witty rejoinder or boastful comeback suggested something about Lio’s speech had struck a nerve. Curious how his tone had changed once the safety of others had been invoked, when he seemed entirely lacking in self-preservation instincts. Just the sort of big-hearted, small-minded dimwit a capitalizing cretin like Foresight would find easy to manipulate to his own ends.

Lio snapped his fingers, and the little Burnish flame that had floated overhead, giving them light, dove for Thymos’s boots. Eyes wide, Thymos leapt back with a yelp, slipping squarely onto his ass. “What the _fuck_ —”

“Rest. You’ll need your strength when we move out.”

“I need to not have a _broken ass-bone_ too—”

“Then I suggest you stay seated so you don’t take another untimely fall.”

Thymos responded by using what remained of his strength to show Lio a single finger. Concluding that Thymos was unlikely to go haring off, at least for the time being, Lio let him be and slipped further into the cave to check on the rest of his squadron. That Gueira and Meis hadn’t come rushing back to find him suggested there had been no casualties, but injuries could not be discounted.

“Bring me up to speed,” he said, drawing up between his generals, who had been huddled in quiet conversation with a Burnish from Squad 2. “Did we lose anyone?”

“No—Coreolus took a shot of Freeze Fire to the knee and can’t do much more than hobble, but he can ride just fine, he says.” Gueira didn’t seem terribly thrilled with the outcome, though, and Lio couldn’t blame him.

“…That’s getting off rather lightly,” Lio said, and the pair grunted their agreement.

“That, plus how easily they gave off chasing us down…” Meis shook his head. “I don’t like it.” He glared down the passageway, seeking out Thymos in the darkness. “…I take it he survived?”

“Somehow. Seems fit as a fiddle, in fact—he’s sapped for strength, but he can run his mouth just fine.”

“You get anything useful out of him while he was running it?”

“…Foresight personally reached out to him to head the negotiations. Seems they’ve got a history—he practically _worships_ Foresight.”

This got Meis’s attention. “You think maybe we can use him for leverage? Like a hostage maybe?”

Lio shook his head. “Not likely. You heard Vulcan: he’s trying to pin the blame for Thymos’s murder on us—on the Burnish. Vulcan is Foresight’s man through and through—he’s sadistic, but he does as he’s told, precisely because Foresight gives him free rein to be as vicious as he likes. I can’t see why Vulcan would bite the hand that’s feeding him, sniping Thymos out of the blue.”

“What—so Foresight _wanted_ him dead?” Gueira scratched his head, frowning. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

It didn’t, really—from the way Thymos gushed over Foresight, there was clearly strong affection there. Perhaps it didn’t go both ways? Thymos was certainly thick enough not to notice when someone hated him and all he stood for.

He sighed. “He’s Burning Rescue—you two haven’t tangled with him before, have you?”

Meis tapped his chin. “We’ve run into him in passing a couple times—never gone up against him personally, though. I think I remember Varlo’s squad hitting an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district a few weeks back—they mentioned a loud-mouthed weirdo in a souped-up Rescue Gear suit swinging around a big stick. Gave them a bit of trouble, but they scraped by—could’ve been your guy back there.”

Thymos was certainly not ‘his guy’, but Lio let it stand, too tired to make a fuss. It didn’t sound as if Gueira or Meis had anything further to go on than what Lio had supplied, which left they mystery of just who Thymos was and why Foresight wanted to frame the Burnish for his death hanging over them like a stormcloud. He wiped a hand over his face. “How are our rations?”

“Stretched, I’ll be honest,” Meis said. “There’s a cache hidden in an old gas station forty miles west that we can hit on the way to the rendezvous—should keep us going until we hitch up with the others. Squad 4’s out on a recon run, but they should be back by daybreak. We riding by light, or by night?”

Night would be better for cover—but the mystery of Thymos’s attempted murder nagged at the back of Lio’s mind, prickling and prodding. He didn’t like the idea of hanging around here any longer than strictly necessary; they needed to put as many miles between themselves and Promepolis as possible while they had the strength to do so. “Light it’ll have to be—fast and hard. We depart as soon as the recon team is back.”

Meis nodded. “You should find a scrap of floor and try to get a few winks in, then.”

Lio knew it was sound advice, but sleep was a difficult thing to come by when they _weren’t_ on the run—rare as that was—and would be nigh impossible to find out here in the Waste, exposed with only the ever-burning coal fire deep below to disguise their presence. “I should question Thymos some more—he’s probably as exhausted as we are, he might let something slip—”

Meis laid a hand on his shoulder, giving a little shake. “Boss. Go take a fucking nap. We’ll keep an eye on the firefighter for you. If he took a round of Freeze Fire to the face without flinching, then he’ll probably still be here when you wake up. We’ve got this.” 

Sensing the next “suggestion” might equate to being slung over Gueira’s shoulder and tossed into a pit with a motheaten blanket, Lio nodded, wiped a hand over his face, and let himself be led over to a corner far from the prying eyes of his company, where he was offered a knapsack for a pillow and told not to show his face to the group for at least the next hour.

And Lio tried—he really did—to sleep. He was utterly wrung out, his Burnish stores nearly depleted by the battle and failing to restore themselves with their usual speed thanks to the twin assaults of fatigue and hunger. He wasn’t even sure he had the strength to flee just now, let alone engage again should Freeze Force manage to find them. 

But it just wouldn’t come. He closed his eyes, lying there in the darkness, but his mind whirred at full tilt. He saw Meis and Gueira, he saw the Squad leaders and their recruits. He even saw Thymos, pinch-lipped and unhappy with his arms crossed over his burly chest. All his responsibility. All exposed and vulnerable if he let himself be lulled to sleep. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his generals—fear and worry were just _that_ pervasive. Behind his eyes, on a constant loop, played all the ways every move he made could go wrong. Such was the burden of leadership, he supposed—your own comfort and contentment sacrificed so that those you cared for could enjoy it instead.

He gave up after several rounds of nodding off, only to be startled awake once more by a fitful half-dream, and he somehow felt even more exhausted after his attempt at sleep than he had before. Meis was demoted, that was for certain. 

He hobbled back into the wan circle of pale pink light thrown from the small fire someone had started, patting his hair down and adjusting his suit. Distant memories of faceless parents reminding him he must never look unkempt in company dogged him still, and he stifled a yawn as he wandered up to Meis, still standing watch where Lio had left him. “How long was I out?”

Meis frowned at him in a manner Lio thought an older brother might—if he’d ever had any siblings. “Barely an hour. You look terrible, Boss.”

Now, Meis was demoted _two_ ranks. “Where’s Gueira?” he asked, ignoring the silent suggestion he go back and try the nap thing again.

“Posted at the cave entrance.”

Lio straightened, fully awake now. “Did Thymos try to escape?” Watching for inbound trouble was a few rungs below Gueira, who wouldn’t have taken the post without reason.

Meis shook his head. “No—he just said he had a funny feeling. You know how he gets. He’s waiting for the recon squad.”

Gueira was a strange one—hot-headed and impulsive one turn and strangely insightful the next. Meis had known him for far longer than Lio had, and even he had no explanation for Gueira’s curious instances of near-prescience. “He’s from Florida,” he’d told Lio once, as if this explained everything.

Meis jerked a thumb over to the meagre little fire, where a burnished metal carafe had been set atop a thin wire campfire grill to heat. “We saved you a cup. It’s instant, and it’s shit—but it’ll at least keep you going to the next rest stop.”

The next rest stop—Lio wasn’t even sure when that would be. Or where. This distraction with Thymos and the disastrous ‘negotiations’ had thrown him. “When is it ever not instant and shit?” 

Meis shrugged. “Never. But one day it won’t be, so enjoy that bottom-of-the-pot flavor while you can.”

“Cheers to that…” Lio said, trundling nearer to the fire, a flicker of brilliant Burnish flame dancing beneath the old carafe and keeping the contents toasty warm. Lio emptied the remains of the coffee into a styrofoam cup—and then, after a moment’s consideration, split the meager volume between two cups. Thymos would probably refuse it, either out of stupid pride or because he suspected a poisoning attempt, but Lio’s good manners dictated he at least make the offer.

He could feel the others watching him as he made his way back to Thymos, with Meis’s eyes resting heaviest of them all. He was used to being watched—they all looked to him, gazed at him, because he was their leader. Tonight, though, he suspected the staring was more out of curiosity about their new tagalong. They wondered who he was—if he was friend or foe, if he would bring danger or protection. Lio wondered similarly, and as soon as he had his answers, he intended to loop the others in. 

“Here,” Lio said, kicking lightly at Thymos’s knee. He was sitting slumped against the cool cave wall, knees drawn up so he could rest against them. When all he received in response was an irritated grunt, Lio kicked him again—harder. “Don’t get comfortable; we aren’t staying here long enough for it to be worth it. Drink this and start working the kinks out of your muscles.”

Thymos gave him the sourest of frowns. “What do you mean _we_? I’m not going with you.” His words were difficult to grasp, bit out around a yawn as they were.

“Yes, you are—or have you already forgotten you’ve barely survived a murder attempt? Do I need to give you my name again, or are we back to ‘Mr. Mad Burnish’?” He shoved the cup in Thymos’s face. “Drink.”

Thymos accepted the cup, frown still pinched—though it softened a tic when the aroma hit him. “Hm. Burnish drink coffee?”

Now it was Lio’s turn to frown. “…What else would we drink? The blood of small children?”

Thymos shrugged, taking a sip—then gave a hacking cough, smacking his lips. “Ugh, this is _terrible_.” He regarded Lio warily. “…What’d you put in this?”

Lio rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest in indignation. “Second-rate grounds and rancid tap water. It’s just _bad coffee_. It isn’t poisoned, you dolt.”

“Oh.” He seemed genuinely contrite at that, taking what could only be described as an apology sip, devoid of any dramatic overreaction. “…Well I’m still not going with you.”

“It wasn’t an invitation; it was an explanation.”

“Hm, so now you’re _definitely_ gonna be kidnapping me.”

“I’m a wanted arsonist and the leader of the purportedly most violent terrorist organization in this hemisphere. Your ‘kidnapping’ will not weigh heavily on my conscience, trust.”

Thymos gave a dry, mirthless chuckle, setting his now-empty cup on the ground beside him and folding his arms over his knees. “You think I’m gonna run back to the Governor and blab about whatever I’ve seen here—”

“Please. You haven’t seen anything. You’ve seen the inside of a cave and a cup of coffee just this side of piss. You’re no threat to us.”

“Then _let me go_.” Thymos shifted to his feet, far less shakily than a mere ten minutes earlier. “Point me in the direction of the nearest human settlement, gimme a couple of protein bars, and send me on my way. I don’t have any personal beef with you, so you go your way and I’ll go mine.”

“You’ll go yours,” Lio repeated flatly, sighing. “Back to Promepolis, then?”

“That’s the ultimate goal, yeah.”

Lio knocked back the last of his own terrible coffee—then dinged Thymos in the head with the empty cup. “What part of _they’re trying to kill you_ did you not understand? Have I used too many words? Should I speak in single syllables? Are there still ice crystals lodged in your brain or something?” Did Thymos’s difficulty memorizing minutiae extend to recall issues in general?

“Listen, you seem like a half-decent guy, for a terrorist, but all I’ve got to suggest there’s _any_ reason I shouldn’t be two-stepping it back to Promepolis this very minute is your word. And sorry, but that’s not gonna cut it—”

“Boss?”

Lio froze, turning on his heel—just as Gueira poked his head out of the darkness, a masked squad member trailing behind. He’d been so preoccupied with this pointless spat with Thymos, he hadn’t noticed their audience, and he quickly drew himself up, squaring his shoulders.

“What is it?”

Gueira stepped to the side, drawing the squad member forward. “Go on, give him your report,” he said in soft encouragement.

The black-plate mask melted away to reveal a young woman, her mouse-brown hair drawn into a ponytail—Ceresa, he thought her name was. Freshly awakened, she had been placed in Squad 4 with her twin. The recon team had returned—but too early. That wasn’t likely a good sign.

“What news? Are the roads clear?”

Ceresa cut a quick glance to Thymos, who was looking on with undisguised curiosity, before straightening and clearing her throat. “Boss, we performed recon on all major roads within a hundred miles south of this location. No signs of any traffic other than locals of the Waste—the nearest Freeze Force vehicle was spotted some ninety miles southwest, flying in from the Waste heading for Promepolis. There was no indication they were aware of our presence.”

Good. This was good. Lio liked what he was hearing so far—which meant he was about to hear something he _wouldn’t_ like, not at all. “What else?”

She swallowed, looking all of her sixteen years. Lio wondered if he ever looked this young, in those moments of self-doubt and worry that seemed far too frequent for comfort. “There’s a refueling station—we used it as our southernmost checkpoint. It’s a day’s ride, maybe less, from the Promepolis border. It’s the last stop before you’re really into the Waste, so it attracts all sorts.”

“All sorts?”

“She means the owner doesn’t ask questions,” Gueira said. “As long as you can pay, with hard money, you’re welcome to whatever you like—food, water, fuel. Information.”

“What sort of information?”

Gueira nudged Ceresa, and she licked her lips. “The sort we didn’t have to pay for this time—no sense, really. It was everywhere to see.”

Lio felt a chill run down his spine. He hadn’t thought himself still capable of _feeling_ cold, yet here he was, shaking. “ _What_ was?”

“The Promepolis Governor—he’s issued bulletins, thrown up billboards, put out news alerts. Any way to communicate to the masses, he’s used it: all to say that…that that man—” She nodded to Thymos, who took several staggering steps forward. Gueira looked like he wanted to put him back down, but Lio stayed him with a subtle shake of his head. “That _that_ man was dead, that he’d been murdered—by Mad Burnish.”

Lio pursed his lips. “…I suppose we saw that coming.”

“But it’s worse, Boss. He said…” She shook her head. “He said that anyone who had any information on Burnish—on _any_ Burnish—should contact the authorities. There’s a reward, even. And he announced a revision to some terrorism act—it’s _illegal_ to harbor Burnish knowingly now.”

“It’s always been illegal—”

“No,” Thymos said, frowning down at the ground. He stubbed the toe of his moldy boot into the ground, gravel crunching beneath. “It was a civil offense. You got a fine, at worst. Maybe community service—and that’s only if the Burnish had a criminal record.”

Ceresa did not seem at all comfortable with the unexpected support. She turned back to Lio, beseeching. “Freeze Force have heat-gun checkpoints all around the city, tagging everyone they can find. And he’s promising sentencing—prison—if people don’t out the Burnish they know. He’s saying that it’s no longer an issue of arson and property damage—we’re murderers now. We’ve slaughtered a member of Burning Rescue in cold blood while he was trying to make peace—and he’s saying it shows there’s no reasoning with us.” She swallowed. “That it’s part of our nature. He’s said he’s funding a new research initiative to study Burnish further, to try and see what drives us to violence.”

Gueira slammed his fist into his palm. “I’d like to show that fuck-nut just what drives us to violence, up close and personal! Where the _hell_ does he get off—and _research_?! He can study my _di_ —”

“Thank you for the report, Ceresa,” Lio said quickly, nodding his thanks to Meis for stepping in with a fist to the side of the head to stop Gueira before he went off the rails. “You may return to your Squad Captain.”

She gave a short, sharp little bow, then seemed very happy to take her leave, scurrying away into the darkness. Lio watched her go—but his thoughts were miles away, wandering the streets of Promepolis.

“I know you said he was trying to pin it on us…” Meis started, arms crossed and shoulders tight.

Lio nodded. “But this goes beyond a smear campaign—he’s using this ‘attack’ as cover to implement more invasive searches. Trying to get his people to turn on the Burnish in their own communities. The ones in hiding, who’re managing their abilities and only want to scrape by peacefully.” He looked to Thymos, who was staring at the ground with a furrowed brow and tightly sealed lips. Remarkably quiet, for someone who five minutes ago had been adamant this was all just a big misunderstanding and that he only needed to waltz back into Foresight’s office, safe and sound, and the dogs would be called off.

Perhaps he was finally coming around, the cogs turning slowly—so very slowly—inside that thick skull of his. He was an idiot, of that there could be no mistake—but he wasn’t stupid.

Gueira scrubbed at the side of his head, where there was no doubt a goose egg from Meis’s hard hook. “What’re your orders, Boss? The recon squad’s back now, so we can move out on your say-so.”

“I think sooner might be better than later,” Meis added quietly. He jerked a thumb at Thymos. “If Foresight’s sounding the call to arms on the back of _that_ guy’s supposed murder, there’s no telling how many trigger-happy bounty hunters might come charging into the Waste looking for us. And they won’t bother with Freeze Fire.”

That was enough for Lio. “Break camp—I want all the squads suited up and ready to ride in ten.”

Gueira and Meis gave twin perfectly timed salutes—and then they were gone, and Thymos was still standing there, staring at his feet.

But not silently.

Thymos raised his head, locking eyes with Lio. “…You really need to let me go back.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Were you not just listening to that chick’s report? The Governor’s pulling out all the stops ‘cause he thinks you killed me—”

“He’s ‘pulling out all the stops’ because that’s what he intended to do all along. He used you when you were alive, and now he’s using you because he thinks you’re dead. If you go waltzing back—”

“Then he’ll see there’s been a mistake! He sent me out here to make a _deal_ with you—and we can still do that!”

“He sent you out here so he’d have cover to persecute my people even more than he already has. And if you try and go back now, you’ll be struck down before you get within sight of the city’s borders—and then they’ll have a convenient body to go with their ‘murdering Burnish’ story.”

Thymos shook his head. “You don’t _know him_. I’ve known Kray since I was just a little kid! I get he’s not exactly your favorite guy, I do, but he’s a _good man_. And he’s going to all this trouble, down what I’ll admit seems like a slippery slope, because he’s angry! He thinks you hurt me—so he’s lashing out. That’s _all_. Let me go back and show him it’s not what it looks like.”

“And what if you’re wrong?”

Thymos clenched his jaw. “I’m not.”

“But what if you _are_? I accept I can’t convince you of something you’re adamant _cannot_ be true—so simply consider the hypothetical.” Thymos was giving him a look of wary confusion, and Lio couldn’t tell if it was because he wasn’t certain he should trust Lio, or he simply lacked the vocabulary to understand exactly what Lio was asking. Lio leaned on the latter. “If you’re right, and Foresight is simply acting out, my people will suffer. If I’m right, and Foresight has used you to encourage the Promepolitans to turn on one another, my people will suffer. If you’re right, and you return—the damage will have already been done, and my people will suffer. If you’re wrong, and you return—you’ll be killed. And my people _will still suffer_.” He stepped closer, into Thymos’s space, and squared his stance, fixing Thymos with a hard stare. “There is _no outcome_ in which innocent Burnish don’t pay the price for what’s either a grand cosmic error or deranged machinations. At least my way ensures that you live.” He then turned on his heel and marched off to rally the squads. “You’re coming with us either willingly or unwillingly, but you _are_ coming with us.”

And because he was, again, an idiot but not stupid, Thymos followed at a respectful distance. Gueira and Meis watched Lio’s sour shadow with guarded looks but made no further remarks, and the other squads took this as the signal it was that the presence of their newest ‘member’ was not to be questioned. 

All signs of their few days’ habitation had been extinguished, and it was just as the angry, red morning sun was peeking over the jagged treetops that the group gathered outside the mouth of the cave. The squads were already suited up and standing ready on their bikes as Lio, Gueira, and Meis marched through, Thymos bringing up the rear casting hunted looks of confusion about at the sea of formless black faces that watched him.

With one arm outstretched, Lio made a tight fist, drawing down his focus, and called forth Detroit. The bike spiraled from his palm as black fire, swirling and coalescing into a sleek conjuration of metal and flame that stood, waiting patiently, before him. He then cupped his hands before himself, weaving and shaping his Burnish flame until he’d carved out a bowl shape that he carefully molded into a thick, padded helmet. He held it out for Thymos to take. “Here. Put this on.”

Thymos recoiled. “Wha—hell no.” He glanced back and forth between the helmet Lio had just conjured and the other Burnish around them, clad in their own armor with similar helmets. “What the hell did you just _do_?”

“I conjured you a helmet. We’re all about safety around here, you know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Regardless, you’ll wear it.”

“I’m not putting on something you just—just—seriously _what the hell_ did you just do?!” Thymos was gaping at Detroit now, and his fingers were twitching in a manner that suggested he very much wanted to lay hands on the bike, just to see if it was real, but was terrified to do so. 

Lio rolled his eyes, snapped his fingers, and conjured a pair of black plate cuffs that smartly _snick_ ed around Thymos’s wrists. Before Thymos could squawk his offense and try to break free, Lio snatched up the helmet and shoved it over the big lug’s head. His ridiculous hair poked out from the visor slit and under the neck-guard. He was just launching into a colorful tirade that was blessedly muffled under the helmet as Lio frog-marched him over to Detroit’s seat, shoving him onto the back. He gave a sharp squeeze of warning to Thymos’s wrist, and though he was still going strong under the helmet, he didn’t dare move from his seat.

With a sigh of completion, Lio brushed back his hair with one hand and let his own armor flow forth, relishing the sensation of being cocooned in thick, impenetrable hide. By the time his own helmet had settled in place, Gueira and Meis had conjured their own bikes and were settled astride, waiting eagerly.

“Where to, Boss?” Meis asked. “Fennel, yeah? It’s big enough to hide the convoy, and there’s those unfinished roadworks projects we could use for shelter.”

Fennel Volcano would have indeed been a fine place to settle down for the coming winter—it could never have been a permanent settlement, but it would have been perfect to give them time enough to stake out locations they could claim for their own, defend, and grow. They could have sheltered in the shadow of the massive volcano, using its heat to disguise their own presence from Freeze Force until they had numbers enough to defend themselves.

But now, Fennel was simply too close to Promepolis. Settling at the base of the volcano, in the shadow of the great city-state, would only be tempting fate. They needed distance. Precious distance, that was all that would be certain to keep them safe now. He would not abandon those of his people still trapped in Promepolis, living in perpetual fear of being outed—but he had to put the Burnish standing at his side, in this moment, over all others. Without numbers, they would be picked apart. He would see the convoy to safety first—and then return for his brothers and sisters later.

“North. Rendezvous with the rest of the convoy, and then we head north.”

“North?” Gueira pulled a sour frown behind the sharp-toothed, perpetual grin etched into his armor. _Floridians_ , honestly. “How far north?”

“As far as we can manage. As long as our rations will hold.” And beyond. They would flee—they would survive. And buried in the cold and the dark, they would plan. 

Lio threw one leg over the saddle, taking care not to crush Thymos against the seat-back. “Don’t fall off,” he warned. “And no unscheduled pitstops.”

Thymos was probably giving him _several_ pieces of his mind—which wasn’t wise, considering how little brainpower he had to begin with—but Lio couldn’t hear. He popped the kickstand, gave a few pulls on the throttle to get in gear—

Then left Promepolis behind in a cloud of dust, the rest of Mad Burnish giving fevered chase while the Great Galo Thymos’s spitting offense was comfortably muffled underneath a Burnish flame helmet.


	4. Chapter 4

Riding with a squirming, unhappy passenger right behind you for days on end was, if possible, even less comfortable than Lio had imagined it would be. 

Thymos seemed to be accustomed to riding a bike, for he managed to keep his seat without much issue even on the more narrow, winding stretches the convoy took north. After rendezvousing with the remainder of Mad Burnish—the ‘civilians’ cast out from their homes for the simple crime of being mutants—they made a tempting target of two dozen Burnish bikes and half as many requisitioned vehicles, stretched out over several miles on the northbound, so they made every effort to take the scenic route, hoping the lonely back roads would mean less risk of running into trouble.

The helmet and cuffs kept Thymos quiet and free from making any mischief, but he seemed to learn quickly that, if he wanted to rant at Lio, he simply had to wait until they stopped to make camp, when Lio vanished the helmet—but not the cuffs—and he was allowed to run his mouth to his content once more. And he did capitalize on this little taste of freedom, those first few days, but either he grew weary of his own arguments that he be freed and allowed to return home or simply got bored, for it didn’t take long before he found new and inventive topics about which to complain: the food (“Why is everything in your stores something processed that expired twenty years ago?! I’d almost rather have another cup of that shitty coffee…”), the lack of proper shelter (“You _aimed_ for that storm—I don’t know how, but you did, and now I’m _soaked_ and I’m gonna catch cold and _die_ , and then you’ll feel stupid, because if you wanted me to die, you could’ve just sent me back to Promepolis, right? But now you’ve wasted like _two weeks_ feeding me—”), the toll the long hours on the bike was taking on his ass (“It’s gonna crack in two if I have to spend _one more day_ in that seat. You’ve got cars! Let me ride in one of those! Or hell, strap me to the roof of one! It’ll be a damn sight more comfortable!”).

He was making a very good argument indeed for Lio just leaving him on the side of the road after their next stop.

But while Mad Burnish’s newest, flashiest, loudest member had no qualms showing Lio all the disrespect he could muster, he was remarkably well-behaved with the rest of the group—particularly the children of the convoy, who had none of their elders’ fear or worry about the new face in their midst. They dared one another to creep up to Thymos and trade a few words with him or ask inappropriate questions, and Thymos—in true proud public servant fashion—obliged them with a wide, bright grin and dramatic threats that if they didn’t clean their plates at mealtimes, then he’d have to alert the Governor. This seemed to both terrify and titillate the children, who would subsequently scatter with scandalized giggles and give Thymos a wide berth until the next time they made camp, when the cycle would begin anew.

The adults of the convoy were less indulgent, though, and regarded Thymos with hooded, wary gazes. The squadrons who’d accompanied Lio to the negotiations had some understanding of who Thymos was and why he was there, but the others only saw a Promepolitan who, rumor had it, would bring Freeze Force down on all their heads. While Lio was confident none of them would directly disobey him, fear could be a dangerous thing that tempted otherwise good people to forgo morals in favor of self-preservation—one only had to look to the current state of Promepolis to see evidence of that.

So he kept Thymos close, both on the road and off. When they rested, their bedrolls were laid out together, and when Lio took watch, Thymos was there right beside him—whether he was up for it or not. Thymos had not liked this arrangement at all those first few nights, nodding off every few minutes leaning against Lio’s shoulder (and snoring, of course), but he quickly found a rhythm that suited him and tended to try and stay awake while Lio held his post when he could manage it.

“I used to work the graveyard shift at Burning Rescue,” he said one evening, huddled up close to Lio and drawing from his pocket an extra Twinkie he’d pilfered from the breakfast bin while the mess matron had had her back turned. “Early on, when I first joined.”

“So six months ago, then?”

“Screw you,” Thymos snorted, kicking Lio’s boot. “The Captain made all the newbies work it—hardened our resolve, he said. I didn’t really mind it actually—it was either dead quiet and I could nap on the clock, or all hell was breaking loose and I got to have some fun and do some good.” He covered his mouth, speaking around a great yawn. “Wouldn’t have thought you’d have to pull a watch, though. Aren’t you the boss?”

Lio shrugged. “Fair is fair. We all do our duty, for the good of the group. I’m the leader—so I’m leading, by example.”

“Hm. And what am _I_ here for, then? Keep you company?”

“Naturally; because I just don’t get enough of you on the road.”

“C’mon, isn’t it about time you let me ride in one of the cars? Or—” Thymos ribbed him, excited. “—maybe you could make me a bike of my own? I can ride, you know—I’ve got my own bike back home.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Lio said. “It’d take far too much concentration, and it’s particularly draining if I’m not connected to the construct.”

“Construct?”

“The—creation. Whether it’s a weapon or a vehicle or armor or anything, it’s my flame that feeds it. It’s a natural cycle of creation and destruction while I’m touching it—but it’s rather more complicated and substantially more effort if I’m not.”

Thymos’s lids were drooping—a sign he was either tired or bored. Quite possibly both. “…Well, I’m just saying. I can ride.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I _can_! If you let me drive your bike, you’d see—”

“ _No_ ,” Lio said, so sharply there was an echo that fanned out over the dark forested landscape stretched out before them. The old camping ground had nearly been entirely reclaimed by nature after so many years, but there were still a few habitable cabins that would provide decent shelter for the evening.

Thymos was giving him a look, like he’d just been struck, and Lio bit his tongue—it was difficult, at times, to remember that underneath it all, Thymos was precisely what he seemed on the surface: a well-meaning idiot without a conniving bone in his body. 

When he’d first started engaging Lio in conversation like this—idle chatter that needled and goaded until Lio responded out of reflex—Lio had been convinced that Thymos had been trying to prise useful information from him, or perhaps attempting to get him to let down his guard, hoping to flee in the night.

But Thymos was not, Lio learned, one for plans of any sort. Really, he just liked to talk. Usually about himself, but he could be guided around to other topics of interest as well. He was just genial, not devious—and while conversing with him could get exhausting, it was…entertaining, in its own way. 

Thymos seemed, shockingly, entirely capable of forgetting that he wasn’t sitting here keeping watch over a sleeping camp of Burnish of his own volition. He accepted his captivity with remarkable grace—and Lio wondered if he’d somehow forgotten that he’d been nearly killed by his own people. That he wasn’t here for a lark, he was here because the alternative was death, and Lio wasn’t going to let him just go marching back to his doom. It was a genuine possibility, Thymos being Thymos.

“…All right, geez. I was just saying…” Thymos shied away from Lio, gamely attempting to rub his arms while cuffed. He did that rather a lot lately—would probably continue to do it more, the further north they rode. Lio made a mental note to have Gueira and Meis check around for hardier winter gear. Burnish had no concern for the chill, but Thymos would succumb to the elements if not properly kitted out, burning firefighter’s spirit or no.

Lio ran a hand through his hair, scrubbing in frustration. “…I can’t just—hand it over. It’s part of me. Even if I _could_ be convinced to let you drive, it wouldn’t respond to your touch.”

Thymos frowned—from confusion, though, rather than hurt offense. “Wh—‘respond’? Is it finicky or something? Need some tinkering?” He lifted an arm and clapped his bicep. “I’m a pretty decent mechanic, you know! I could look at it if you liked.”

Looking at it was probably _all_ Detroit would let Thymos do. Lio shook his head with a dry little laugh. “It’s perfectly conjured every time I construct it—it runs because I will it to. No tinkering required.”

Thymos mulled this over for a moment, then nodded as if he understood. “Guess you save on gas money, at least.” With a sigh, he shifted closer to Lio again, bumping shoulders. Lio suspected he was simply siphoning whatever heat he could out here from the Burnish flame that made Lio’s body run hot as a heater. “So—you can’t _tell_ it to let me drive it?”

“I could try. I doubt it would listen.”

“Even though _you_ made it?”

Lio held a hand out and summoned a flickering little flame that danced hypnotically in his palm. “Our flames can be willful sometimes—like they have a mind of their own.” He made a fist, extinguishing the flame. “…I think maybe they do.”

“…You think the fire’s _alive_?”

Lio frowned at the tone—Thymos clearly thought he’d lost his marbles. “Surely even a thick-headed firefighting idiot can see that Burnish flames aren’t normal.”

“ _Hey_ , don’t call—and _obviously_ they’re not normal. It’s why we’ve gotta use shit like Freeze Fire and cooling gel to put out the blazes _your_ people start.” He crossed his arms and sighed. “…I guess it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing, if they were alive.”

Lio drew his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. “…I can hear it, sometimes.”

“Hear it?”

“The flame. It speaks to me—calls out. _I want to burn hotter, I want to burn—burn everything. Burn the world._ ” Lio shuddered, recalling the first time he’d heard the voices. He’d thought he was losing his mind. He’d been plagued by the nameless, faceless voices from nowhere for a full month before he’d awakened, and he wasn’t entirely sure now what had terrified him more: the flames calling out to him, or the flames consuming him.

For a time, the voices had been all he’d had, wandering the Waste alone, searching for others like himself and being disappointed at every turn. Even now, surrounded by companions—his _family_ —he sometimes still found himself feeling alone, like all he had was the roiling ball of flame and light buried in his core and whispering secrets to him.

Thymos stared at him, and then asked, very seriously, “…Is it talking to you now?”

“No,” Lio sighed. “Perhaps you’ve spooked it into hiding.”

“I’m not spooky.”

“You’re a firefighter. Maybe it sees you as a threat.”

Thymos thrust his chest out proudly. “Well it _should_. I’d kick its ass in a fair fight.”

“Really?” Lio lifted a brow. “Because you went down to a single shot of Freeze Fire.” He snapped his fingers, summoning the little dancing flame again, and casually offered it to Thymos for inspection. “This packs rather a lot more punch.”

Thymos leaned in close, studying the flame through squinted eyes, then said, very softly and pitched into a high falsetto, “…Pleeeaaaase Mr. Mad Burnish, don’t take him on. We can’t handle him. He’ll kick our ass, he’ll— _oww!_ ” Thymos hastily slapped away the spark that Lio had flicked at his nose, then slipped his singed fingers into his mouth and began suckling with a sour frown.

Lio snorted, lips quirked. “Serves you right. Disrespecting the boss like that.”

“You sound like Gueira,” Thymos said, blowing on his fingers. “That fucking hurt.”

“It was supposed to. Perhaps you’ve learned a lesson.”

“Yeah, make sure I find wherever you hid my Freeze Pistol before I do watch with you next…” From most anyone else, it would have sounded like a veiled threat, a teasing jibe that hid true malicious intent—but from Thymos, who was still nursing his fingers ruefully, it seemed to be only tough talk. 

He was open and genuine and above all else an utter idiot. He pilfered expired pastries when he thought no one was looking and thrilled children with talk of far-distant bogeymen and had the attention span of a goldfish. Galo Thymos was not what one might call ‘slick’.

And while, in a dark corner of his mind, Lio was forced to consider that this might all be an elaborate disguise—that someone who worshipped at the altar of Kray Foresight might share some of his seedier, sleazier characteristics—he equally could not deny he felt some sort of…call. Not unlike the call of the flames that smoldered in his chest and just as insistent: this was a _good man_. An idiot, too stupid to have survived this long on his own, but at his core good. 

Lio didn’t trust good people; they too often confused _just_ with _right_ —and Thymos did not seem to be an exception.

But not trusting him because he was _good_ and not trusting him because he was _evil_ were two very different things.

Lio stretched his legs back out, staring at Thymos. He’d managed to peel off the plastic packaging of his Twinkie and was attempting to slurp out the cream filling. He could manage remarkable feats while handcuffed, and Lio privately wondered what this meant.

“Tell me about Foresight.”

Thymos nearly choked on the cream filling, squeezing the Twinkie so hard a bit of it spurted out and plopped to the ground. Thymos gaped down at the ruined cream in horror, a full fifteen seconds passing before he seemed to really process Lio’s words. “I—wha…? Fuck, I was really looking forward to…” He shook his head. “Wait, what?”

“Tell me about Foresight,” Lio repeated calmly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said…” Thymos frowned. “What do you think I can tell you that you don’t already know? I don’t have any insider information, I can’t tell you—”

“God, calm down,” Lio scoffed with a roll of his eyes. Perhaps he should have waited until Thymos had finished the Twinkie—he might have been in a better mood then. “This isn’t an interrogation.”

“…It’s not?” Thymos’s frown twisted. “Then why do you want to hear about Kray? You hate him.”

“And you don’t. So tell me something I don’t know. Tell me what redeeming qualities you’re sure he has.”

Thymos was still on his guard. “…Why?”

Lio wanted to be irritated at the bald suspicion, but then, what had he really done to engender any manner of trust from Thymos? He’d kidnapped him, cuffed him, forced him to go on the run, completely screwed up his sleep schedule—and while Lio maintained he’d been in the right on all counts to do so, Thymos could not be blamed for being on edge when Lio acted unexpectedly.

“Because clearly you see things in him that I don’t, and if I’m asking you not to judge me and mine without having all the facts, I suppose I should extend the same courtesy to you.”

“Cause you’re all about _courtesy_ , huh?” Thymos said, and though he could easily have sneered it, derisive and bitter, he seemed more amused than anything. As if the prospect of being allowed to speak his mind about Foresight inured him to the harsh reality of his current situation. “Hm. Well—I told you before: he saved my life when I was a kid. Ten, I think it was? Maybe younger.”

“Elaborate.”

Thymos seemed only too happy to do so, gaze going distant as he drifted into memory. Any issues he had memorizing dry facts and rote scripts did not appear to extend to his rose-tinted remembrances of Foresight. “It was…night. Summer. I remember, cause we left the windows open in the or—the house.” Thymos coughed to disguise what was a rather obvious slip of the tongue, but Lio let him imagine he hadn’t noticed. Not every shame people tried to hide was an underhanded cover-up attempt, this Lio knew too well. “I was dead asleep—and there was an explosion. The…my mom used to say I could sleep through anything. But not that. Sounded like it came from right outside my room—my ears were ringing. I couldn’t hear anything but the ringing. I could _feel_ it though: the fire. Everything was suddenly hot, _so_ hot, and my eyes were watering from the smoke. I couldn’t hear, could barely see—and I knew I had to get…the others. My brothers and sisters. They were in their rooms—I knew I needed to get to them, but I couldn’t see anything, just the fire—and I ran through it, as fast as I could, toward the stairs. I thought maybe if I could just get out, I could find a policeman—a firefighter, someone to help. And then…there he was.” Thymos smiled to himself, soft and fond, as he played with the remains of the plastic Twinkie packaging.

Lio frowned. “Foresight was—a firefighter?” He’d been under the impression Foresight had always been in research—specifically focused on anti-Burnish measures. His foundation held countless patents on weapons and technology designed to take down Burnish. The notion he’d started out in public service was laughable.

“No, no—at least, I don’t think so? I think he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Caught me as I was barrelling down the stairs. He ran into a burning building and saved a kid, a complete stranger.” Thymos shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. “He even came to visit me in the hospital, made sure all my treatments were covered and I got pampered like a prince. I actually kind of lucked out, if you think about it.”

Lio had no desire to think about Foresight any further than he felt necessary. “And the others?”

“Others?”

“You said you had brothers and sisters.” Then Lio heard his tone, the sharp, clinical indifference he was used to affecting with outsiders, and he gentled himself consciously. “…Did they make it out all right?”

“I…they weren’t…” Thymos sighed, a kind of resigned _harumph_ , and he scrubbed at his hair in frustration. “Yeah—yeah, I’m pretty sure. I mean, they weren’t…they weren’t _really_ my brothers and sisters. We weren’t related. We weren’t family.” He then scrambled to add, “Not that you have to be related to someone to be family! I know that, but it was…” He frowned at his own words. “…We kind of got split up after the fire. Kray tried to track them down for me, but he wasn’t the Governor then, and there was only so much he could do…”

“So you…you never saw them again?”

Thymos grew defensive. “It’s not like I didn’t try—but some of them were admitted to other hospitals, and they didn’t keep good records back then for…for kids like us.”

Tendrils of dark suspicion began to wind themselves around Lio’s mind, squeezing and probing until his head ached. “…How did the fire start?”

“Huh?”

“The fire. You said there was an explosion. How did it start?”

Thymos just shrugged. “Think they tell a ten-year-old that kind of thing?”

“Wh—you never _checked_? Once you were older?”

“I mean, it must’ve been a gas main blowing or something. The building had been old _before_ the Great World Blaze—gas main blowing, or someone left the stove on, or old fireworks from the midsummer festival…” He shrugged again. “It was an accident—those kinds of things happen.”

Lio wanted to explain that no, those sorts of things didn’t just ‘happen’, and when they did, there were usually police investigations and news reports—things that could easily have been looked into by a curious teenager. 

But Thymos did not appear to have been a curious teenager, or a curious anything now. Not when it came to Kray Foresight. He took the line Foresight fed him, swallowed it admirably, and then spat it back out for anyone to hear. 

“Everything I am today is thanks to him,” Thymos said, fixing Lio with a level stare. “So when he asks me to do something, I don’t question why—I just get the job done. He risked his life to help me; I’m only too happy to spend the rest of my life returning the favor. Someone like that, who makes those kinds of sacrifices and takes those kinds of risks for others…they’re the kind of person you want to dedicate yourself to helping.”

Lio’s stomach turned. The man Thymos described sounded fantastic, too good to be true—because he _was_. Foresight was a master player, had been tugging on the strings of those around him for as long as Lio had been aware of his existence—which was roughly since Lio’s Burnish awakening. But he was also careful, and clever; he hadn’t gotten to where he was by committing too many slip-ups, and while Thymos’s story did arouse suspicion, it was certainly not enough to convince Thymos himself that there was more to Foresight than met the eye—let alone the masses at large.

“All right; my turn now.”

Lio stiffened. “Your turn with what?”

“You asked me a question, now I get to ask you one.” Thymos shifted around, facing Lio properly, and settled his elbows on his knees. “…What the hell are we doing out here?”

Lio blinked slowly, not following. “…We’re on watch. We’re still near enough to the republic’s borders there could conceivably be Freeze Force patrols coming through here, and even without regular patrols, locals might report us and—”

“Not _here_ ,” Thymos sighed, rolling his eyes. “Here. _Out here_. In the middle of nowhere, just heading ‘north’. Where the hell is that supposed to be, anyway? You know if you go north far enough, you eventually wind up going south again, right?”

Lio did, in fact, know that—though he was honestly a bit surprised Thymos did too. An idiot, but not _quite_ so stupid, then. “We’re searching.”

“For _what_?” Lio frowned at the tone, and Thymos held up a hand, apologetic. “I don’t mean—I’m just along for the ride, right? I deserve to at least know where I’m being taken.”

“So you can figure out the way _back_ , then?”

Thymos pursed his lips. “Don’t give me that shit, like I’m not supposed to _want_ to get back home. But I don’t have a death wish, and I’m not insane enough to think I could survive the trek back alone—it’s already damn near freezing at night. I wouldn’t make it three days before the cold got to me.”

Lio studied his nails. “Well you survived a shot of Freeze Fire to the chest.”

“Hm, you’re right, I did…” Thymos tapped his chin in thought, and Lio sighed.

“We’re searching for a place we can…settle in.”

“Settle? Like live in, permanently?” Thymos frowned. “…Isn’t that dangerous for you guys? The whole reason you’re such a pain in the Governor’s ass is because you’re always on the move. At best, Freeze Force can manage to pick off a few of you, but most of you get away.”

Lio found himself impressed with the unexpectedly shrewd observation. “The idea for now is to retreat so far into the Waste we aren’t worth the effort—and to then grow our population to the point that even if Foresight wanted to take us on, he couldn’t.” He quirked his brows in challenge. “We don’t intend to hide out here forever.”

Thymos narrowed his gaze. “…You’re going to war? Against Promepolis?”

“Only if they want one.” Lio called forth his flame and let the little spark hop from one finger to the next. “We need a home, a place where we can live and work and thrive without fear of persecution.”

Thymos was quiet for a long moment, then said in soft accusation, “…You might still have one, if you didn’t come roaring in destroying shit every couple of weeks. You can’t blame people for being afraid of you. I don’t love how Freeze Force handles business, but there’s a reason they get away with being assholes: because people feel safer with them around, clearing out rowdy Burnish.”

“And you think they bother to differentiate between a ‘rowdy Burnish’ and a Burnish who’s only newly awakened and can’t control themselves?”

“You saying you’re newly awakened and can’t control yourself? You saying all your lackeys my team’s had to clean up after weren’t to blame?”

“You’re Burning Rescue—tell me how many facilities not owned by the Foresight Foundation have been hit by Mad Burnish attacks in the past six months.”

Thymos frowned. “…How the hell would I know that? You know I’m a new hire—and we’re just one squad; there’s a dozen others stationed around the city.”

“Then I’ll tell you: _none_. We attack _his_ holdings and his holdings _only_ —”

“And yet innocent people still get caught in the crossfire!”

“ _My people are innocent too_!” Lio quickly dismissed the flare warbling in his palm and struggled to his feet, pacing out his anger—Thymos was a blind fool, but that didn’t merit being reduced to so much ash simply on account of Lio losing his temper. He marched over to the railing marking the edge of the cliff atop which they had made their camp and grabbed tight, squeezing in time with each deep inhalation and releasing on the exhale.

From a safe distance, quietly and carefully, Thymos asked, “…Why do you hate him so much?” Lio bit his tongue, reminding himself not to answer reflexively—to choose his words, because they mattered. He could not be the capricious Mad Burnish boss with this one, not if he wanted Thymos to actually _understand_ and not merely react. “You asked me about the Kray I know, but you never talk about the one _you_ know.”

“I talk about him plenty.”

“No, you badmouth him—you say he’s done terrible things, that he’s a monster. That he tried to have me killed.” His voice sounded closer, and Lio resolutely kept his hands on the rail and his eyes on the dark, black blot of the distant horizon. “But you never say what you mean. You never say what those terrible things are, or how he’s a monster. Why you think he’d want me dead.”

“I believe I’ve mentioned on _several_ occasions that he clearly wanted you dead to turn public opinion even more soundly against Burnish, to flush us out for capture.”

“Yeah, but you won’t say why you think he’s doing that.” Thymos’s voice sounded just behind Lio’s ear, and Lio could sense his bulk—if he took a step back, he’d bump into Thymos’s broad chest. Lio could feel his breath ruffling his hair, flyaway wisps tickling Lio’s cheek. “Terrorist or no, I figure you must think you’ve got a good reason for doing what you’re doing. So if you _want_ me to think better of you, tell me why I should.”

And Lio did, to his surprise, want Thymos to think better of him. Of all Burnish. Because they had to start somewhere, and one understanding soul, one person who saw what they fought for and why, was better than none. Even if that soul lived inside a brawn-over-brain act-first-think-never firefighter.

“He’s not what you think.”

“Elaborate,” Thymos said, and Lio almost wanted to smile. Was a smartass idiot an oxymoron? Perhaps.

“He hunts us. Kidnaps Burnish—not to punish us, if we’ve committed a crime, or imprison us or even to have us stand trial, but for something terrible.”

“…Terrible, like what?”

Lio clenched his jaw. “…I don’t know.”

“Wh—you don’t _know_ —?”

“I _don’t know_ what exactly he’s doing,” he said again, turning on his heel and shoving Thymos away. It was hard to breathe with someone looming over you like that. “All I know is that those of us he’s managed to capture, those of us who Freeze Force have picked up and spirited away…are never seen again. No trial, no prison—just _gone_. Our few sources inside the Promepolitan government have all spoken of Foresight Foundation-branded black-site facilities where captured Burnish are transported, but they’ve never managed to figure out where these facilities are or what exactly goes on inside. All we know is that Burnish go in, and they don’t come back out.” He crossed his arms over his chest, defensive. “So your Governor is either ignorant of the goings on within his own Foundation—or he’s complicit.”

Thymos frowned, but he didn’t otherwise react to Lio’s harsh words. “…You can’t know anything bad’s going on there. It could be long-term research—it could be medical care.”

“Know many hospitals with armed guards at the doors and no windows? Who haul their patients in by the truckload, bound and sedated? Who deny they’ve taken in any patients at all when questioned by the families?”

Thymos scratched at his chin, clearly uncomfortable. “I…the situation with the Burnish is a lot more complicated than it seems—I’m sure he’s doing his best—”

“It’s not, really. Complicated. This isn’t the Great World Blaze. This is a people who’ve been forced into hiding, who are terrified of what they are not because it’s inherently frightening but because of _what might happen to them_. What people like Kray Foresight might do to them. You think we’re just a bunch of wild and reckless ‘terrorists’? Who would set Promepolis aflame, just to watch it burn?” He grabbed at the fabric over his heart and clenched. “It’s _who we are_ —the flames are part of us. They _call_ to us. It’s a hunger, a thirst. Undeniable.”

And now Thymos had the gall to wear an expression bordering on _pity_. “Then…then all the more reason you should accept _help_ —”

“We don’t want help! There’s nothing to ‘fix’! We just want to be left alone, to live in a community we’ve built, free.” Lio straightened, putting himself back in order, and added softly, “…But Foresight won’t allow that. He hunts us—even those of us who’ve done nothing wrong. And he’s using _you_ to do so, broadcasting to all who’ll listen that we’ve murdered you, that Burnish can’t be trusted, that we’re inherently violent and will eventually turn on those who’ve protected and tolerated us thus far.” He raked Thymos with a hard glare. “I’d be careful spending time alone with me, if I were you. Who knows when I might snap?”

He then shouldered past Thymos; his watch was almost up, and Thymos could find some other Burnish to help him stave off the encroaching chill.


	5. Chapter 5

After nearly a month of slow traveling, riding hard by the shortening days and standing watch through the lengthening nights, the convoy finally arrived in the cold, dark north. The cold, dark north they had arrived in, it should be noted, was distinguished from the cold, dark north through which they’d been traveling thus far by being substantially colder and darker and further north. This, Lio was more than satisfied with, as it meant they were about as far from Promepolis as they could reasonably travel; Thymos, however, had his own opinions and was not shy about letting anyone who drew within earshot know.

Lio supposed he could understand: while the Burnish in the convoy saw these distant northern reaches as a safe haven, an area Freeze Force had no call to travel to and where they were unlikely to be stumbled upon by others, at least not for several months, this place was rather dangerous for a normal human unaccustomed to such climes.

The burning spirit Thymos liked to boast of evidently only kept his insides warm, leaving his outsides exposed to the elements. After hitting the first snows, little delicate flakes fluttering down and turning the roads treacherous, Lio pressed Gueira and Meis more firmly for layers and winter gear that might give Thymos some protection against the freezing temperatures—a difficult task, given his build. His generals came through, though, as they always did, and while Thymos still found cause to complain, at least his whining less frequently involved the chill he was being forced to endure. 

Thymos practically wept in relief when Lio finally announced that they would be making camp for the final time when they reached what the advance scouts had informed him appeared to be an old military installation. It had long since been abandoned, as the neck-high snow drifts attested, but the structure was still serviceable. With its spacious bunkers and mess hall—not to mention showers that could probably be coaxed into use if the well could be thawed—it would be more than enough to house a few dozen Burnish exhausted from a weeks-long journey. 

In short order, the facility was transformed from a rotting carcass of civilizations past to a bustling little settlement. All that remained of the mattresses on the bunks in what had once been the rank-and-file soldiers’ quarters were rusted-out box springs, so the area was cleared out, and living spaces were cordoned off with clothes lines and blankets for privacy. Once upon a time, Lio would have considered it pretty rough living; now, it was utter opulence the likes of which none of them had seen (or would see again) for quite a while.

And though he had protested that he was perfectly fine bunking in the general space with the rest of the convoy, Gueira and Meis had tracked down a room marked ‘Admiral’s Quarters’ and informed Lio that this would be his apartment for the foreseeable future. “You gotta start acting a little bit more like our boss, Boss!” Gueira had reminded, clapping Lio on the shoulder and giving a little shake. Part of Lio wanted to refuse—he was their leader; they couldn’t _make_ him stay here—but a much larger part was staring longingly at the well-preserved and still immaculately made-up king-size bed with its attached office and en-suite bath and deciding _fuck it_.

Now a more-than-safe distance from Promepolis, Thymos was given his rein and finally freed from the Burnish cuffs he’d been obliged to wear while they traveled, because well, where was he going to go? Even with his newly provided hardy winter clothing, he wouldn’t make it more than a day, perhaps a day-half before succumbing to the elements, and the nearest human settlement was at least a two days’ ride on a Burnish cycle—much farther on foot. 

However, despite being allowed to more or less roam where he liked—including bedding where (and with whom) he pleased—Thymos laid claim to the massive bed in Lio’s quarters the day they arrived, throwing back the covers and hopping in to, as he put it, “Take it for a test drive.” 

This ‘test drive’ prefaced Thymos moving himself into Lio’s quarters as if they’d been prepared for him specially. Not that he had much in the way of belongings to move—but he did have his side of the bed, his amenities in the en suite, and his rack in the tall, metal locker that served as a wardrobe to hang up his down-filled winter coat and store his snow boots. 

“You know you’d be perfectly safe sleeping anywhere else, don’t you?” Lio asked one night, mind racing at too rapid a clip for sleep to come easily. “The others have grown used to you now; they wouldn’t harm you.”

“Mm, not without risking the boss’s wrath, eh?” Thymos snickered into his pillow, then shifted closer until his knees butted up against Lio’s. “And I know they wouldn’t. But it’s freezing in this place—and you’re really warm.” Thymos’s lids fluttered open, his eyes tiny points of light in the gloaming cast by the flickering Burnish candle that ensured Thymos didn’t trip and break his neck going for a piss in the middle of the night. “Like a big heater, running all night.”

“Isn’t there the tiniest bit of irony in a Burning Rescue member hating the cold?”

“I don’t hate it. I just don’t like being freezing twenty-four-seven—especially not when I’m trying to sleep.” 

“So much for your burning firefighter’s spirit.”

“My burning firefighter’s spirit does a fantastic job of keeping my core warm—my fingers and toes, not so much.” He reached out, slow so as not to spook, and held his fingers just shy of brushing down Lio’s exposed bicep. “Warm. Like I’m curled up in front of a campfire.”

“A hot water bottle would achieve much the same effect.”

“Yeah, but a hot water bottle isn’t much for conversation.”

“You’re meant to be sleeping, not conversing.”

“So are you, yet here we are.”

Lio frowned at him, then deliberately closed his eyes and rolled over to put his back to Thymos, hoping that would be the end of that. And it was, for a long, silent beat—and then: “…You probably should practice a little more self-preservation, Mr. Mad Burnish.”

Thymos’s gentle, teasing tone kept Lio from seizing up at what might have otherwise sounded threatening, and he sighed, “That sort of advice coming from someone dead set on willingly marching to his own death is really quite ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying, you’re sleeping with the enemy.”

“You’ve slept right next to me for the past month; I fail to see why I should suddenly be wary of you now. Or did you finally find that Freeze Pistol of yours?”

“Well now we’re in a private room. In a totally separate corridor from the rest of the convoy.” Lio could hear the frown in Thymos’s voice. “…You shouldn’t treat a stranger so casually. It could come back to bite you in the ass.”

Lio rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he released a long, exhausted sigh. “Sit up.”

“Huh?”

“ _Sit up_. Go on.”

And because Thymos was an idiot who did exactly as he was told without question, he did so—at which point Lio grabbed the arm farthest from him and gave a great tug. The action threw Thymos off-balance until—flailing—he came down on all fours, straddling Lio. They stared at one another for an awkward beat before Lio said, “Try.”

“Try…” Thymos swallowed. “Try what?”

“Whatever you like. Whatever you’re clearly worried I might be inviting by sharing my bed with a born and bred Promepolitan.” He took Thymos’s wrist in hand—then drew it up to place his palm at Lio’s throat. Still, he held Thymos’s gaze. “You could kill me like this—or at least incapacitate me, long enough to sneak away. If you’d thought to try something sooner, perhaps you could have even made it to a nearby settlement on foot and eventually found your way back to Promepolis.”

Thymos swallowed again, throat bobbing, and his eyes flicked down to the hand he had braced at Lio’s throat. Lio almost hoped he _would_ try something—just a bit of pressure, the faintest squeeze to show he had it in him. That he could think for himself—fight for himself.

But he didn’t—because Galo Thymos was a good man. Honorable as any Burnish under Lio’s watch, for all the good it would do him. Thymos moved to draw his hand back, and Lio released his hold on his Burnish flames in a bright, sharp flare. Thymos went flying off the bed, head clipping the floor, and came down hard in a pile of limbs.

While Thymos lay there, groaning in pain, Lio shifted upright to watch with a cool detachment. “And that was restrained with conscious effort. If you’d tried that while I was asleep, my flames would have instinctively put you through the wall. That is if they hadn’t reduced you to ash on contact. So I wouldn’t advise making an attempt on my life while I’m sleeping—for your own safety.” Thymos whimpered in response. “I don’t need to practice self-preservation, Thymos. I could teach a master class in it already.”

He wasn’t quite sure why, but the entire exchange had really quite irritated him. Perhaps it was because it felt as if Thymos was attempting to play some sort of protector to Lio—a mentor, even, who saw all the little ways in which Lio was being naïve about his situation and was attempting to help in his ham-handed, holier-than-thou way. Lio knew well enough he didn’t quite _look_ like one might expect the leader of Mad Burnish to look, but he _was_ the leader, had earned the role and his people’s respect. He was confident in his power but not cocky, and any shortcomings he might have, Gueira and Meis were brilliant at covering. 

He didn’t share his bed with Thymos lightly; he did so because he knew he could handle absolutely anything Thymos might throw at him, were he the sort to act in an underhanded manner. That he _wasn’t_ that sort was just another reason he had a side of the bed, toiletries in the en suite, and racks in the wardrobe.

Thymos gingerly put himself back together, struggling to his feet as he massaged his skull—there was probably going to be a nice big goose egg right on his cap come morning. “…Noted,” he muttered, shuffling back over to the bed and climbing back under the covers with a wince. “Could’ve just _said_ you could defend yourself.”

“You seem the type to learn by doing; I simply indulged.” Lio rolled back onto his side again, drawing the covers up to his neck. “I hardly need you lecturing me on taking care of myself. You ought to know well enough Burnish are far from helpless, and I’m certainly no exception—”

“I never said you were helpless,” Thymos said, soft and serious. “I said you should maybe be a little more careful about letting your guard down so easily.”

“And then I showed you it’s never once _been_ down. As I said, I don’t need you lecturing me—”

“Then what _do_ you need me for?” Thymos was sitting upright, and his gaze rested heavy on Lio’s back. “What do you want with me?”

How many times were they going to have this conversation before Thymos got it through his thick skull? Lio rolled back over, glaring up at Thymos. “You’re here because if we’d let you go running back to Promepolis like you wanted to do, you’d have been _killed_. How difficult is that to understand?”

“It’s not difficult at all. What _is_ difficult to understand is why the hell you care. So what if I got killed? What’s it to you? I’m not your responsibility.” He drew a knee up to his chest, resting an elbow on it. “You’ve got a few dozen Burnish on the run with you, looking to you to keep them from getting picked off by Freeze Force. You’ve got way more important things to worry about than me.”

It figured that Thymos would choose now of all times, when they were meant to be getting some much-needed sleep, to press Lio for answers to questions he was still struggling with himself. “…It’s a matter of honor. Foresight sees us Burnish as violent brutes who are ruled by our instincts, when _he_ ’s the violent brute in reality. So when he goes low—like attempting to use someone who trusted him implicitly for his own ends—we go as high as we possibly can.” Lio shrugged. “It also helps that by keeping you alive, we may be able to prevent whatever he’s planning from coming to fruition.”

“Burnish honor…” Thymos repeated, turning the phrase over in his mouth, then snorted in soft derision. “…Sounds more like Burnish pride.”

“I’m shocked you can see a difference.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with pride; sure, it’s more self-serving than honor, but if you’ve got something to be proud of, no sense in hiding it.”

It was less a matter of being proud than _not_ feeling shame, but that was splitting hairs. “So? Are you satisfied now?”

Thymos slid back down, punching his pillow to fluff it. “Mm, you still didn’t really answer my question, you know.” He rolled onto his side to stare at Lio. “Just—you gotta give me something to _do_. If you’re gonna insist I be your ‘guest’ for the foreseeable future, at least let me feel useful.”

Lio frowned, niggling suspicion creeping in. “…Why would you want to be _useful_?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Lio shifted up onto one elbow, the suspicion growing. “Because—you aren’t our _guest_. You were brought here, against your will, with no way to leave here under your own power—”

“That’s a lot of words just to avoid saying you kidnapped me.”

“This isn’t a vacation, or leave or whatever you might be calling it inside your mind so it’s marginally less traumatizing—this is you, being forced to run for your _life_.” Lio didn’t know why he was trying so hard to convince Thymos he wasn’t worth trusting, but here he was. 

Thymos waited until he’d run out of energy, watching quietly and calmly, which Lio thought was _really_ not fair. When Lio ran a hand through his hair, massaging his temples to ward off the headache that was pounding at the back of his mind, Thymos said, “Maybe I am running for my life. But you guys are too. You’re all just trying to survive—and you’re decent enough to go out of your way in the doing to try and help other people survive too. Even when they aren’t entirely convinced they need that help.”

“…I kidnapped you.”

“There, was that so hard? And yeah, you did. The cuffs were also a little much, I think—and that helmet you made for me smelled weird, so you might want to…get your fire checked out. Or however that works. But—” He shrugged. “You’re not bad people. Even before I got to know you, I never thought Burnish were bad by nature. Not like you can help what happened to you, after all. And we’re probably gonna have to agree to disagree about the justifications of rampaging through the streets of Promepolis blowing shit up, but…” His eyes flicked around the room. “I don’t think you’ll be going on demolition runs to the city any time soon.” 

That, Lio had to give him. But this far into the Waste, they could vent their urges and release their pent up flames whenever they pleased without risking discovery. Burning Foresight properties to the ground was a hell of a lot more satisfying, but they could live like this. Survive like this.

“We’re all kind of stuck here together is what I’m trying to say, I guess. And whatever your reasoning, whatever’s _actually_ going on…you took care of me when I was vulnerable, did what you thought you had to in order to protect me, even though you’re convinced I’m just being manipulated by a guy you despise.” Lio felt his cheeks heat with mortification at having it all spelled out like this—it was for the best the only light in the room was the dancing little Burnish flare sitting atop the bedside table. “You’re a decent person, I’m realizing. And I don’t think you’d keep me here, knowing how badly I want to go back, if you didn’t genuinely think it was for the best. So I’m gonna keep believing what I believe, and you can keep believing what you believe, and until one of us can manage to convince the other we’re right, we should just…make the best of the situation.”

Lio didn’t think he would show half the grace Thymos was demonstrating were their positions reversed. No—he _knew_ he wouldn’t. He’d be fighting and spitting to be released, so he could rush back to the people counting on him, even at risk to his own life. What did it say that this simple-minded fool was handling his situation better than Lio likely would have managed?

It said rather a lot.

“…You’re an idiot, Galo Thymos,” Lio huffed, flopping back down.

An idiot, but not stupid.

He showed his back to Thymos again, warning, “Don’t get too close to me. I won’t be held responsible for how my flames might react.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve got a hell of a bruise from before; trust me, no more sneak attacks tonight.” He sighed, burrowing under the covers. “I’m the one who should be afraid of _you_ …”

And on that, Thymos wasn’t wrong.

With their camp made and roots planted—for as long as they could manage, at least—Lio left the day-to-day running of the settlement to Gueira and Meis and turned his own attentions to their numbers. Their convoy comprised but a fraction of the Burnish who had awakened in the short time since Lio had come to be a part of Mad Burnish, and as long as they were so few, they would never be able to make a stand and carve for themselves a niche in which they could live as they pleased, free as Burnish ought to be.

But rare were the occasions of late when they managed to spirit away a newly awakened Burnish before Freeze Force found them and hauled them off to who-knew-where, and those Burnish who were already living at large kept their heads down and their noses clean, hiding from both Foresight and their own brothers and sisters. With Foresight’s new campaign of fear and mistrust, it would be even more difficult to rally new members to their cause.

But they would start, Lio decided, with freeing those poor unfortunates rounded up by Freeze Force and thrown into detention camps, never to be seen or heard from again. Somewhere out here in the Waste were the black-site facilities they’d heard rumor of, where Burnish were hauled in and subjected to atrocities the likes of which Lio could only imagine. They didn’t have much in the way of numbers, but there were enough of them Lio felt they could infiltrate one of these sites and stage a rescue operation.

That sort of thing took planning, though, and the time to make such plans had been difficult to come by while racing from one hidey-hole to the next. Now, he at last had the luxury of sitting down—at a desk, even! With a lamp that no longer functioned!—taking a breath, and making an accounting of their resources. Which squads could be spared for long-term recon missions, who could be trusted to fend for themselves if they ran afoul of any long-range Freeze Force patrols or just the odd Wastrel looking to cause mayhem.

They needed information, that was priority number one—information on where these sites were located, the state of their security, how many Burnish they were imprisoning. Lio could not commit any of his squads to a breakout mission without such crucial information, and while it galled him to sit here, hunched over a handsome oak desk with the faded photograph of whoever had ruled over this area in decades past hanging on the wall behind him, he knew he had to. Patience was something Lio had always struggled with, and though he put on a cool face for his companions, here in this abandoned office of some long-forgotten admiral, he felt the urge to act eating away at him, as surely as his Burnish flame prickled at his restraint on particularly rough days.

But just as he kept a check on his flames, so too did he keep a check on such urges to act with the silent reminder that if he indulged, he’d not only risk failing to rescue any Burnish trapped in these detention facilities but also potentially get his _own_ people captured in the doing. He was their leader; he couldn’t act rashly or recklessly, not if he wanted to ensure his people retained their freedom. No, much as he ached to get out there and burn these black sites to the ground with all the fire and fury he could feel churning in his core, a maelstrom of destruction just waiting to be unleashed, he had to wait, to let others risk their lives in his name, and act only when the pieces were properly aligned. That was how Mad Burnish survived, that was how they grew. That was how they would one day be free.

So he sent around orders, he asked his recon teams to risk life and limb journeying out into the cold, dark Waste searching for signs of their fellows. _Ride hard, ride fast—flee, don’t fight._ These were all the sterling words of advice he could give them, yet they were undeterred. They saluted him with bright, eager faces and raced off, _south_ and _east_ their only destinations.

“One of these days, you’re gonna learn to have as much faith in us as we’ve got in you, Boss,” Meis reminded him when the last flickering tail light disappeared into the sheeting sleet. “They won’t disappoint you.”

“They could never,” Lio said. Every single member of this convoy was ten times the person Kray Foresight could hope to be. It wasn’t a matter of faith—it was fear, plain and simple. He’d lost his family once; he wasn’t keen to do so again.

But, like any good parent, he understood he couldn’t keep them under his wing forever—Burnish were meant to be free, and that meant free to run where they wished. Sometimes, where they wished to run was into danger, for the sake of their friends and family. Lio as leader would simply have to accept that—though it didn’t mean he had to like it.

Blessedly, the camp was bustling with distractions these days, and Lio found his thoughts could be easily turned to other matters, if he allowed it. Thymos had inserted himself squarely into the midst of the convoy, the others slowly but surely shedding their mistrust and doing away with the wary distance they’d kept thus far as their curiosity got the better of them. Lio suspected his own casual interactions with Thymos helped ease things along, and in short order, Thymos had carved himself a niche in the group all on his own, without Lio having to throw his weight around. 

Thymos was, as he had boasted, an accomplished rider, and with the veteran squads dispatched for recon, Thymos took it upon himself to coach the more newly awakened Burnish in the group on handling their cycles. “A bike’s a bike, right?” he’d said, guiding a young woman who was angling for a place on squad 3 on the angle at which she ought to grip the handlebars. “Whether it’s real or a construct, you gotta know what you’re doing before you hop on, or you could hurt someone.”

His ‘students’ hung on his every word, riding double with him when the weather permitted practice runs, and their balance and confidence did indeed improve, as Lio heard from both of the remaining squad leaders. “He’s pretty useful, for a Promepolitan!” Coreolus had laughed, showing a face full of bright-white teeth. “He even showed me how to brace my knee so it doesn’t cramp up on long rides!”

Even Gueira and Meis had shifted in their view of Thymos from one of temperate disdain to mild tolerance, even bordering on a healthy competitive spirit. Gueira in particular never turned down an offer from Thymos to spar, for there were few other ways to work off the bubbling energy that built up inside the core of all Burnish that didn’t involve property destruction. Their matches, such as they were, drew decently sized crowds, and “the great Galo Thymos” had even made something of a name for himself—at least until he made the mistake of calling out Lio one evening after putting Gueira on the ground. 

“Well? You gonna just sit there and _watch_ while I work my way through your buddies? Or you want to try and claw back some of that famed Burnish pride I keep hearing about?”

And with nearly half the convoy watching, Lio could hardly refuse—though he did not particularly _want_ to refuse, either. No, he was restless and on-edge, waiting for word from the recon teams, and watching the way Thymos moved, dodging and countering every swipe of Gueira’s, had been somehow hypnotizing. Thymos looked like he ought to be slow and sluggish, too much muscle on that frame to make use of the power he packed, but he was a _sight_.

Lio was on his feet and tugging off his jabot before he could think better of it, and Thymos gave a sharp _whoop!_ and took a lap to fire up their crowd.

That had been a mistake on his part, for a larger crowd meant all the more eyes on Thymos when his back hit the ground, his head clipping the cold concrete with a sharp crack that surely had sent stars spangling across his vision. And so soon on the heels of Lio’s Burnish flame tossing him off the bed, too—what a pity.

From the corner of his eye, Lio caught trinkets and pilfered snacks surreptitiously exchanging hands as impromptu bets were called in. He heard several _Way to go, Boss!_ es, but no few _Oh, the poor thing!_ s as well, which sent an inexplicable warm flutter through Lio’s chest. 

His people _liked_ Thymos—and Thymos seemed to like them as well. They might have been more comfortable if he were just a visitor and not living amongst them, and Thymos too would surely rather be back in Promepolis, on call with the rest of his Burning Rescue squad and facing down normal fires instead of Burnish ones, but they were all making the best of a bad situation. 

Lio extended an arm, which Thymos took after gingerly rubbing at his cracked skull. He was wearing a ridiculously wide grin, which was rather worrisome; had so many blows to the head given him brain damage? Thymos wasn’t Burnish and wouldn’t heal quite so easily if anything serious happened to him. “That’s not exactly the expression I’d expect to see on the face of someone who just had his ass handed to him by someone half his size.”

“Half my size, nothing—you’re like…a _third_ my size. I think my _bicep’s_ bigger around than you are.” And yet, he was still grinning. “Shit, I didn’t even see you move—you didn’t pull something on me, did you? I thought it was a given you weren’t allowed to use your fancy Burnish powers.”

Lio scoffed his offense. “Please. You think taking you on required anything more from me than raw ability? You’re quicker on your feet than you seem, and you can handle yourself well, but it’s not always about sheer force.”

“Clearly,” Thymos said. “Is that why Gueira picks on the kids? ‘Cause if he sparred with you, the others would never show him an ounce of respect again?”

It was difficult to tell sometimes with Thymos if he said these things to flatter, or if he said them out of genuine admiration. It would probably have been clear, just from looking in his eyes, and yet in times like this, Lio found it difficult to meet his gaze. “More likely he just needs an outlet for his energy; Meis is off with squad 5 on a supply run, so I expect you won’t see any further challenges from Gueira for a while once he returns.”

“Oh—are they sparring partners?”

Lio gave him a shrewd look. “…Something like that.”

And indeed, once Meis returned—laden with canned goods and toiletries—Gueira no longer hit up Thymos for sparring sessions, protesting a bruised ego that belied his thoroughly sated energy stores. Thymos took this quiet rejection in stride, though, turning his attentions to Lio in full now. “If I’m gonna keep up my strength, I can’t piss around with small fry, right?”

“Who the _fuck_ are you calling ‘small fry’ you little sh—” Gueira’s strident squawking was cut short by Meis grabbing him by the ear and leading him calmly away from the kitchens, where Lio was reviewing the recent haul. It would hold them for at least another week, especially with their numbers cut by over half with so many recon squads still missing.

“You really shouldn’t antagonize a Burnish, you know,” Lio said, squinting to try and make out the faded label on a can with familiar red and white branding. Chicken-something. Or at least it had been at one point. “It’s hazardous for your health.”

Thymos scoffed. “Psh, I’m not scared of him. Plus you wouldn’t let him harm a hair on my doubly-bruised head. You’re a just and proper leader like that.”

“Try me. I would conjure a throne made of raw Burnish flame and sit back and watch. Perhaps with a bucket of this.” Lio held up a plastic-wrapped packet of uncooked popcorn kernels.

“Ooh, what else have you got in there?” Thymos shouldered in close, digging through the deep bin Meis had dragged back from the run. “And watching’s no fun—you spend too much time sitting around on your ass as it is.”

“ _Sitting around on my_ —?!”

“I _mean_ we should do this more often.”

“What—rifling through the convoy’s pantry looking for treats to steal?”

“ _No_ —sparring! Wait, we’re allowed to just take stuff?”

Lio left him to the bin, ladling out a cup of thin tea from the punch bowl one of the kitchen staff had found the day they arrived. Fresh-brewed from a bag was tastier but couldn’t be stretched quite as far. “I won’t be making a spectacle of myself again any time soon, so I hope you got it out of your system.”

“Well you kicked my ass, so I think it’s a given I’ll at least need a rematch. And it doesn’t have to be a ‘spectacle’—there’s dozens of empty rooms in this place. There’s even one at the end of the west wing that looks like it used to be a music hall or something like that. I bet it’s soundproof.” He turned to throw a rakish look over his shoulder, waggling his brows. “No one could hear you beg for mercy.”

Lio tutted softly. “I see your memory’s as shoddy as ever—did I not _just_ tell you that you really shouldn’t antagonize a Burnish?” He took a sip of his tea. “I know where you sleep, you know.”

Thymos went back to rifling through the bin. “You’re too much like me to try something underhanded like jumping a guy in the middle of the ni— _ooh_!” He whirled around, gleefully shoving a box with colorful packaging in Lio’s face. “ _Bagel bites_! Your guys found _bagel bites_!”

Lio carefully eased away, drawing back far enough he could make out the label. “…Yes, it would seem so.” Thymos was practically vibrating with excitement, and Lio lifted a brow. “…I distinctly recall you complaining at _length_ about having to eat processed food. I take it you’re partial to these?”

“Um, duh? Was I being too subtle? Gimme a light—I’ve totally got a craving now.” Thymos began tearing into the packaging, and Lio protested with a sharp yelp.

“Those are meant to be rationed! They’re for the whole convoy!”

Thymos frowned. “…There’s, like, twelve in here. How exactly were you planning on rationing them for forty-something people to eat?” And Lio had no answer for that, but that wasn’t the issue. “C’moooon, just _one_. I haven’t had one of these since…god, I don’t even remember. I didn’t think they made them anymore! Wait—how old are these things…?” He turned the box over, searching for the expiration date. The face of revulsion he made suggested he wasn’t happy with what he found. “…Well, they’re frozen, so they’re probably still good! But just in case, maybe I should test one? You know, to be sure the others won’t get sick eating them.”

“…How magnanimous of you,” Lio drawled with a sigh, motion for Thymos to pass him the box. “Never was a greater sacrifice made.”

Thymos gave a little fist-pump of elation, practically shoving the box into Lio’s hands. “Well, I’m Burning Rescue! It’s in my blood, what can I say? That’s just the type of guy I am. Now—come on.” He snapped his fingers. “Bust out ol’ sparky and let’s cook one of these bad boys up!”

Even though the preparation instructions printed on the box were faded beyond recognition, Lio was quite certain they did not include _subject one (1) bagel bite to direct exposure to a Burnish flame_ , but as there was no other way to heat the things promptly and Thymos seemed unwilling—or else unable—to wait for a fire to be stoked, Lio obliged.

Cupping what looked like a small white hockey puck in the palm of one hand, Lio summoned a gentle flame that engulfed the bagel bite in an instant. Thymos yelped at the sight, and though Lio quickly banked his flame again, the damage had already been done.

Lio frowned down at the smoking remains of the bagel bite, holding it up to study it. “…It’s probably still edible.” Really, only the _bagel_ part had been charred; the _bite_ part looked serviceable.

Thymos leaned forward, giving a testing sniff. “…I guess. But did you have to go nuclear on it?”

Lio passed it to him, reaching for a dingy towel to wipe his fingers. “You were the one who wanted to use ‘ol’ sparky’.”

“Guess I should listen to you more…”

“Why start now?” Thymos took a tentative nibble. “…Well?”

“It’s not…” Another bite, bigger this time—he wasn’t even avoiding the charred bits. “It’s not bad, actually—hm.” He shoved the rest into his mouth, chewing loudly, and then reached for the box. “Heah—do anobaa wa.” He held another frozen bagel bite in his palm for Lio to take.

“You said _one_ —these are meant for the entire convoy to share—”

“It’s not for me!” Thymos protested, swallowing thickly. His throat bobbed with the effort—he hadn’t even bothered to chew thoroughly, the pig. “You should try one too! You’re the boss, you deserve a little perk now and then for your trouble.”

“I’m the _leader_ —that means _leading_ , not stealing food I haven’t earned.”

Thymos shoved the bagel bite under Lio’s nose. “You think there’s _one_ person in this camp who wouldn’t insist you more than deserve a delicious little pizza on a bagel? Hm?”

Lio angled his head away, frowning. “It’s the principle—”

“If you don’t heat this bagel up right now, I’m gonna go ask one of the others to heat them up for me so I can give them to you because they’re your favorite. They’ll fall over themselves just for the opportunity to heat you up a special treat.”

“…That’s cheating.”

“I’m a desperate man, Mr. Mad Burnish. There’s no telling the depths to which I’ll sink to make you eat a bagel bite.”

Lips pinched, Lio snatched up the bagel, holding it in his palm again—and tried, this time, to practice a bit more control. If he was going to be putting this one in his mouth, he wanted to try and make it as edible as possible.

And while it took a bit more effort, he was able to coax his flame out more carefully, heating the bagel slowly and evenly until the frozen cheese on top began to melt into a gooey mess and the pastry portion crisped up properly. Thymos was watching with undisguised avarice, drool pooling at the corner of his mouth, and Lio sighed, holding out the bagel for him. “Go on.”

“Huh? But—no, that one’s for you. I already had one.”

“I burned it—surely you’d rather have a properly cooked one, no?”

“Well of course, but…” Thymos dithered only a moment longer before his stomach evidently won out, and he accepted the gift—only to gently tear it in two and offer half back to Lio. Thin strings of mozzarella oozed down the sides, and Lio’s mouth unconsciously watered at the scent of marinara wafting his way. “Here, open up.” Lio frowned, reaching for the bite, but Thymos pulled away. “No, come on: open. And close your eyes, too.”

“Wha—if you want me to eat it, I’ll eat it. Give it here.”

“No! Just open your mouth and close your eyes. You look like the type to just nibble at something. This should be an _experience_.”

“…It’s a frozen pastry well past its expiration date. It’s not five-star Italian cuisine.”

“It is for now; now _come on_.”

After over a month now living cheek-to-jowl with Thymos, Lio was well aware he could be quite stubborn when it came to some matters—food being one of them. And as he was insufferable when in a sour mood, Lio decided it simply made more sense to let him have his way. “…You’re impossible,” he said, letting his eyes fall shut and opening his mouth.

“ _You’re impossible_ ,” Thymos mocked with a soft snicker, then gently placed the bagel bite half in Lio’s mouth. “Now—don’t open your eyes yet!—just _savor_ it.” And perhaps assuming Lio didn’t know how one was meant to ‘savor’ a bagel bite, Thymos continued, “Like, imagine you’re sitting on a couch that’s meant for two people but is holding four, and the only light in the room is from a TV that’s playing some old black-and-white thing that Aina _insisted_ you watch that week because she sat through _Apocalypse Now_ the week before, as if that was a chore and not one of the greatest films of all time. The windows are open because it’s that perfect temperature you only get right before spring turns into summer, and there’s five boxes piled high on the coffee table just within arm’s reach, each holding a piping hot ‘Inferno Volcano Margherita Mega Max’ ordered from that little joint right around the corner from the station.”

Lio listened, patiently, while Thymos lost himself in what was clearly recollection of pizza nights past with his Burning Rescue company, and for the first time, he felt a nugget of guilt lodge itself in his chest. This man had friends—a family, even, it sounded like. He wasn’t some government clod or Foresight’s yes-man. He was a hard-working public servant who’d risked his life when asked to try and forge some sort of peace between his home and a terrorist group. Just because Foresight had used him didn’t mean he didn’t have people who missed him, who had mourned his ‘death’ and lost a little piece of themselves thinking their friend had passed.

Yet here he was, insisting on sharing a bagel bite of all things with Lio, like it was the most important thing in the world to him in this very moment. Like Lio wasn’t the very reason he wasn’t sitting on that cramped couch stuffing his face with what sounded like heartburn in a pizza box and watching movies that had already been old when the Great World Blaze had struck.

“…So? How is it?”

Lio opened his eyes. Thymos was leaned in close, brows lifted hopefully and face full and bright as he waited impatiently to hear Lio’s thoughts. Lio chewed—and then swallowed before he could commit the experience to memory. “…Remarkable,” he said, in all honesty. “I can’t describe it.”

Thymos clapped him on the shoulder. “Right? I mean, sure, it’s not the _best_ thing in the world, but they’re pretty good! I can’t believe Meis managed to find some. You think there’s more, wherever these came from? Or— _ooh_ , there used to be these pizza roll things, too, and—Lio?”

Lio grabbed Thymos’s arm, fingers digging into the thick material of his down-filled winter coat, and tugged insistently as he marched from the kitchen. “Let’s go.”

Thymos let himself be led away, boots thudding in counterpoint to Lio’s short, quick steps. “What? Where are we going? Lio?”

Somewhere Lio could work off this _energy_ running through him, firing his blood with a million volts and setting his nerves aflame like he hadn’t felt since he’d first awoken. Somewhere he could sort out why he wanted—really, _truly_ ached—to set Thymos free, to send him home back to all that mediocrity he clearly longed for and wish him a long, happy, quiet life, far from the pain he had coming. Somewhere he could shed his ‘boss’ cloak and be Lio, just Lio, and show Thymos why he should stay regardless, because there were things worth fighting for here, so much more important than the occasional housefire or industrial mishap, and that if he was going to be so disgustingly loyal, he ought to be loyal to someone who had _earned_ it. 

“To this music hall you’ve found,” Lio said. “I’ve decided I’ll let you be my sparring partner.”

For what it was worth, Thymos was not a bad match at all. Perhaps because he didn’t have a crowd to show off for, he was much more focused when they faced off in what was not quite a music hall but rather looked to have been reserved for band or orchestral rehearsal. Thymos’s leering threats that no one would be able to hear Lio beg for mercy were founded, it seemed. 

Still, despite wringing from Lio a promise not to resort to any ‘funny business’, Thymos eventually found himself square on his ass for the second time that evening, though he looked no less thrilled with the outcome now than he had been before. 

“Again!” he demanded with an excited bark, stripping off clothing as he paced the room. The heavy coat had been tossed over the back of a dusty folding chair the moment they walked through the door, and following quickly behind had been Thymos’s scarf, his sweater, and nearly his undershirt as well before Lio stopped him.

“It’s jabs and hooks and the occasional sweep of the leg; not mud wrestling.”

“But I’m gonna get everything sweaty.”

“So then you’ll do laundry.” Lio, for his part, had doffed his jacket and jabot, but that was all he had been willing to sacrifice. Some bodies were made to be brazenly displayed and shown off for hungry eyes—Lio’s was not one of them. “…In fact, why not make this interesting?”

Thymos frowned. “…It’s not interesting already?”

“A bet, you idiot.”

“Ooh.” Thymos perked up, eyes flashing. “What’re we wagering?”

“Put me down—and you can have the rest of the bagel bites.” Thymos pumped his fist, likely already imagining the spoils waiting for him once Lio had a few ass-bruises of his own. “But…”

The fist-pumping stopped abruptly. “But?”

“If I manage to put _you_ down a third time today…” Thymos swallowed thickly, jaw clenched in worried anticipation. “…You’ll apologize to Gueira, take half rations at meals for the next week, and stop singing in the shower.”

“Wh—why should I have to—and I’ll _die_ if I don’t—and it’s golden entertainment—!”

“Because he’s one of my generals and I won’t have you distracting him with petty rivalries, and because you took food you hadn’t earned that we _would_ have found a way to divide amongst the group, and because you cannot carry a tune to save your life and my flames may soon incinerate you out of instinctual self-preservation.”

Thymos crossed his arms over his chest petulantly, tapping his foot as he mulled over the offer. At length, he gave a grudging grunt. “ _Fine_. But you’d better not burn the rest of my bagels when I win them just ‘cause you’re a sore loser.”

“I would never,” Lio gasped.

And in the end, it made no difference. 

“…I’m gonna waste away,” Thymos groaned, staring up at the ceiling as they lay in bed. Lio hovered just at the edge of sleep, but Thymos seemed insistent on keeping him this side of waking. “You wasted all this time and energy, trying to keep me alive. And now you’re gonna let me starve.”

“Technically you’re the one who’s letting yourself starve. No one said you had to take the bet—and if you didn’t like the losing terms, perhaps you shouldn’t have struck that ridiculous pose when you did.”

“Well you were down! I deserved to gloat a little, I thought!”

“I wasn’t. And you didn’t. Gueira will expect his apology before breakfast, he said.”

Thymos sighed, and the mattress dipped as he rolled over, sidling up just behind Lio so that the fronts of his thighs brushed the back of Lio’s. “…It’s not fair you can sleep in your underwear and I have to wear, like, five layers.”

“I don’t want to know what that says about your sleeping habits in Promepolis.”

Thymos gave a sort of cackle-snort, tracing a finger absently down the line of Lio’s spine. “You just wait ‘til summer comes.”

Summer. That felt like a long ways off, and Lio wondered if Thymos was actually still planning on being here then. Did he really have no intention of even _trying_ to escape? Or attempting to convince Lio of Foresight’s innocence? Granted the former was suicide and the latter quite impossible, but still. It felt almost like he’d given up. Or given in. And Lio didn’t quite know why, but that was…almost disappointing.

“This far north, summer will still be frigid, you realize.”

“Mm, but maybe by then you’ll have founded that Burnish settlement you’re always talking about. Somewhere a little more temperate maybe.”

“And you think you’ll be living there as well?” Before the words had even left his lips, he heard his tone and knew it sounded challenging. A bit petulant. Not quite so innocent as Lio might have wanted it to sound. It gave away too much, was too telling, and surely even Thymos wasn’t _that_ much of an idiot. 

Then again, he thought Gueira and Meis were sparring partners, so who was to say?

But all the response he received was the soft, gentle wheezing of Thymos’s snoring, a rhythmic in and out of breath that suggested if Lio really wanted an answer to his question, he’d have to try again in the morning.

It was strange. Lio had won both their bouts of sparring, but it still didn’t keep him from feeling like he’d just dodged a deadly blow.


	6. Chapter 6

Thymos took Lio at his word that he would be his sparring partner, and every morning, before the kitchens had been fired and while those standing the night watches were still on duty, he chivvied Lio from their bed, out of the administrative wing and down the little hall to the rehearsal room. Meis had protested the arrangement at first, concerned Lio was letting himself be herded so far from the watchful eyes of his seconds—and in a soundproof room of all places!—until Lio had reminded him that there wasn’t a Burnish in the convoy who could incapacitate him, and Thymos as a run-of-the-mill human knew better than to even try. This logic seemed to satisfy, certainly going over better than would have protests that Lio, for whatever reason, genuinely trusted Thymos these days.

And, Lio was impressed to find, Thymos truly did have the physical skill to hold his own in a fight that he’d boasted of. While Lio had soundly wiped the floor with him the first few (half dozen) rounds, Thymos became more and more of a challenge to put down as the days passed and he grew accustomed to Lio’s quirks and tells, until he was besting Lio quite as often as the other way around. 

“I’ve just never taken on someone as scrawny as you is all! It took some time to adjust,” Thymos had helpfully explained one session—and then promptly found himself with a black eye and bruised kneecaps.

When he wasn’t getting his ass handed to him by Lio, Thymos was growing closer with the other Burnish as well. Once he’d finished teaching the freshly awakened squad hopefuls everything he could about how to handle their cycles, the younglings wanted him to teach them how to fight—and he obliged them very, very carefully. Really, to Lio’s eye, it mostly looked like they just wanted an excuse to climb over him, and nine times out of ten, the ‘lessons’ devolved into Thymos chasing them around the barracks waving around an old mop he referred to as his ‘Matoi’ or demonstrating his strength by letting two—or more—hang from his biceps as he lifted them off their toes.

And it wasn’t just the younger Burnish in their ranks who admired him—for Thymos often found himself being doted on by the cadre of middle-aged matrons who liked to play cards after lunch in the canteen. They would take his heavy coat and sweaters and undergarments and mend the rips and burns earned during his sparring sessions with Lio, when the roaring energy of a good fight made it difficult to bank his flames. Even the crotchetiest of the old geezers in their troupe, rescued from a nursing home some months back, had warmed to him after Thymos had obligingly received a good trouncing in the chess matches he favoured—“Do you even know how to play chess?” Lio had asked, and “Not a clue!” Thymos had merrily returned.

He looked absolutely ridiculous, toddling from group to group in his five layers of clothing and bending over backwards to insert himself into the midst of people who a month back would have wanted nothing to do with him—but he didn’t look unhappy, not by any stretch, with a smile ready for anyone who approached him. 

And Lio noticed all of this, because he watched. He watched through the curling tendrils of steam wafting off of his morning cup of coffee—a step up from the fare he’d had to choke down when he and Thymos had first met, courtesy of a crate of Colombia’s finest grounds Meis had come across on one supply run. He watched while half-listening to Gueira give a run-down on their dwindling supply of toilet paper, warning they were going to have to either dig a latrine soon or start burning their shit. He watched while Thymos drowsed, half-asleep, standing beside him on another long, lonely night of guard duty. 

He watched, and sometimes, Thymos caught him looking. In those instances, the goofy, doltish expression would fall away, replaced by a look that was a little bit cocky—which was normal—and a little bit nervous—which was anything but. The Great Galo Thymos didn’t _get_ nervous or scared or anxious or anything like that; he was a shot of unadulterated confidence chased with dandelion fluff. Ceresa had fondly called him a _himbo_ , and Lio didn’t really know what that meant, but it somehow fit.

What it was Thymos saw when he looked at Lio—when he caught Lio looking—that put that expression on his face, Lio both desperately wanted to know and _never_ wanted to find out. Because it sounded like a dangerous sort of knowledge. Thymos slept in the same bed as Lio, went to blows with him, brushed his teeth next to Lio. What did he have to fear from Lio? 

These were tricky thoughts—ones that could wind you up and hold you, trap you, for a full day if you weren’t careful—but Lio had distractions. 

For always at the back of his mind, amidst all the watching and wondering, was the final recon squad, now weeks past their expected return window. Two of the squads had dragged themselves back already, with nothing to show for their efforts but word that there were no signs of any human life, let alone Freeze Force, for hundreds of miles. 

Of the third squad, though, there was no sign or word, and it was getting to the point where Lio wasn’t sure if he truly _wanted_ them back, for whatever news they came bearing after all this time, it was not going to be the good sort.

Gueira and Meis, ever vigilant and always quick to step in and offer their support, suggested sending out another party to search for the missing team, but Lio had shot that down in an instant.

“No, I won’t put anyone else in danger. You know as well as I that we don’t send out green teams who can’t handle themselves. Squad 2 is one of our best, so if they’ve been compromised, it’s not because they were careless: it’s because Foresight’s alert is still out. Sending a second team would just put more of our people in danger _and_ leave the compound down on defenders.” He shook his head. “We can’t bear the risk.”

“It’s not for sure they’ve been captured, though—maybe they got hurt, maybe the weather got too treacherous. Maybe they _need_ a team out there looking for them,” Meis tried. 

Gueira nodded. “Yeah—and all right, fine, we can’t spare another squad to look for them. Let me and Meis go instead. We’ll cover more ground if it’s just the two of us, and we can handle our shit better than anyone else in the convoy after you.”

“Boss,” Meis said, stepping in with his voice low and soft, and it was in moments like this Lio most keenly felt the years between them. A decade was not so much, and he didn’t doubt that Gueira and Meis respected him above all others, would die for him if he asked them to, but _god_ they made him feel like a child throwing a tantrum at the worst times. “It’s been almost a month now… Even with the shitty travel conditions and the distance they had to cover, _someone_ should’ve been back with word. You know Gueira and I will be careful—we won’t lead anyone back here, and then at least we’ll _know_ —”

“I said _no_!” Lio slammed a fist down onto his desk, his irritation and frustration manifesting as a brilliant flare that charred the old mahogany and left a smoking little crater behind. Gueira and Meis both jolted, taking a step back—and Lio felt a wave of contrition immediately subsume him. He let his head drop and buried his fingers in his hair, scrubbing with a grumble of annoyance. “I’m—I apologize. I didn’t mean…” He rubbed at his face. “…I’m sorry.” 

“…It’s fine, Boss—really…” Meis started, but Lio was already shaking his head and standing. 

“…I need some time to think it over. I’ll…I’ll consider your proposal.”

He had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but he didn’t want to offend his generals any more than he already had. He’d never been a dictator or the type to lead by force. Respect could not be commanded, it had to be _earned_ , and bonds forged under duress were liable to break if you so much as looked at them wrong. 

Meis either believed him or decided the conversation could be rejoined later, for he nodded, looped his arm through Gueira’s, and saw their way out.

A bath. That was what he needed. It was the closest to true solitude you could get in this compound, and the wet room in the admiral’s quarters was particularly nice, all things considered. Running water had proven too much trouble to manage, but they’d filled buckets and barrels and every jug they could lay hands on with snowy slush for just such occasions, so at least the camp’s hygiene was unimpeachable.

Mutely, Lio tugged off all the trappings he wore that told the others he was someone worthy of their respect. He didn’t quite feel equal to them just now, so this was for the best. Once stripped, he padded into the wet room, tipping the huge, heavy buckets of melted snow into the tub. He gave a reflexive shiver as he climbed into the deep pool, distant memory reminding him that the water was _frigid_ , though he blessedly couldn’t tell. Perhaps a cold shower would have done him good, though. They always said that it helped clear the mind, didn’t they? Maybe that was his problem; he was running too hot, his Burnish flame clouding his judgment. He would spar with Thymos that evening and see if that didn’t—

A sharp rap on the door had him jerking upright, and water sloshed over the tub’s rim as he turned to see a shadow looming just on the other side of the door’s frosted glass panel. “…Lio?” came Thymos’s muffled voice, and Lio turned back around, slipping down until he was covered up to his shoulders and resting his head against the lip of the tub.

“Who else would it be?” he muttered just loud enough to be heard.

“Fair point,” Thymos said, much more clearly as he shouldered into the wet room. He’d doffed his heavy winter coat and sweater and was down to his undershirt—and it looked like his trousers were next on this chopping block as he reached for his fly.

“Wh—what the hell are you doing?!” Lio whirled around, clutching at the side of the tub. “I’m _bathing_.”

“Yeah, I can see.” Sure enough, there went the pants, followed shortly by his socks. His hands went for the hem of his undershirt, peeling it up and over his head—and Lio turned his back, glaring holes into the far wall. “You should’ve told me you were taking a bath.”

“Why would I tell you I was taking a bath?” Lio sighed in monotone, closing his eyes. He had a feeling he knew what had prompted this little invasion of his privacy—and what was probably coming next.

Sure enough, the water rippled, lapping at his bare skin—and Thymos hissed. “Fuck, that’s cold! How can you just _sit there_? Your balls must be the size of pea pods by now.”

Lio instinctively crossed his legs, angling his body away and glaring up at Thymos with a sour frown. “I can hardly tell, can I?”

Thymos wrinkled his nose in confusion, draped half over the tub. “I guess…” He shrugged. “Seems like a waste of a good bath, though. If you can’t even enjoy it, why bother?”

“Who says I’m not enjoying it? Even Burnish appreciate a nice soak on occasion.” Indeed, even sitting here as Lio was felt like an extravagance he didn’t deserve—but nor did the others deserve to bear the brunt of his frustration, so here he was.

Thymos continued to run his hand through the water, generating a current that brushed teasingly against Lio. “…Could you heat it up, if you wanted to? Like, without making it all boil away?”

No amount of innocence in his tone could disguise the purpose of such a question, and while Lio really, truly wanted to be left alone just now, he’d spent enough time around Thymos to recognize that there was little chance of him getting the hint and leaving Lio to sulk. He’d already driven off two people who gave a shit about him, no sense in spoiling the tenuous relationship he had with a third. He could at least show one of them he wasn’t the child he might seem.

He shifted over to make room on the little bench skirting the tub, then carefully gave his flames rein enough to manifest as a faint glow that sheened over his skin. Steam began to curl up from the surface, and Thymos gave a satisfied hum, whipping off his underwear and clambering over the side of the tub. What felt like half the water was displaced, spilling over the edge as Thymos settled in with a loud sigh of pleasure. 

“Oh yeah, _that_ hits the spot…” He cupped water in his hands and slicked back his hair, which clung in dark, wet tendrils to his face and neck. Unbidden, an inelegant snort escaped Lio’s lips—he looked _ridiculous_. “What?” Thymos asked when Lio failed to disguise the sound.

“Nothing,” Lio said, knowing that he didn’t look much better himself. He settled back against the tub wall again, resting his neck and staring up at the ceiling, now foggy with steam. Perhaps Thymos might be quick about washing up and then leave Lio to sulk.

Thymos shrugged, then reached with a straining grunt for the bar of soap. They’d found it sitting in a little nook inside the shower stall their first night in the room, though by now it was little more than a nubbin. Meis and Squad 5’s successful supply run had come at just the right time.

Thymos began to soap up, and though Lio tried to keep his mind on other matters, his eye couldn’t help but wander—it wasn’t as if Thymos was bothering to hide himself, and if he didn’t want anyone getting an eyeful, he wouldn’t have climbed into a tub with another person to begin with, would he? 

Then again, Thymos was also the type who found nothing at all strange about climbing into bed next to his kidnapper every night and cuddling up close for warmth, so his judgment was suspect at best.

“…What’s that?” Lio asked, sitting up straight and frowning.

Thymos continued to scrub absently. “What’s what?”

“ _That_.” Lio pointed to the arm Thymos was presently covering in soap suds. Through the film, Lio could see a strange, uneven pattern to the skin—blotched and blurred.

Thymos glanced down at his arm, brows lifted. “…My arm? It’s burned, you knew that.”

“I…I didn’t.”

“You _didn’t_? How? We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for, like, over a month now, right? And you’ve seen me change.”

No—he’d been present when Thymos insisted on wandering around half-nude; Lio had always done the polite thing and looked away, as civilized folk did. His body moved quite before he gave it permission, shifting over on the bench until he was brushing knees with Thymos, positively captivated by the wicked whorls and stretch marks marring the skin covering Thymos’s left arm. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch, and though he was certain Thymos would not have cared, he kept his hands to himself. “…How?”

Thymos lifted a brow, confused but not put off by the question. He dipped his arm in the water, rinsing the soap off, and let Lio get the good look he’d been craving. “…My first day with Burning Rescue. We got dispatched to manage a fire—a Burnish fire. Coincidentally set by a _certain someone_ ’s generals.” Lio looked up, struck, but Thymos shrugged off his concern. “It was a while back—and it wasn’t them who got me.” Lio didn’t know why that relieved him, but it did. “There was another Burnish—a young woman who’d been working at the facility. I guess the stress of the attack set her off. She didn’t mean to, but—well.” He ran a hand over his arm, clapping his palm against his bicep. “Never got all my feeling back. I can sense hot and cold, and I’ve got my sense of touch, but it’s…I dunno. Dulled. Had to wear this weird medical sleeve for months afterward, and it took care of a lot of the damage, but I’m always gonna have the scars I guess.”

Thymos held his arm closer, in clear invitation, and Lio finally gave in, gently running his fingers along the meandering scars and tracing where skin had stitched together and been rent asunder by the hungry, ravening unbound flames of a newly awakened Burnish. Had he known the Burnish who did this? Freeze Force had sorely depleted Mad Burnish’s numbers for a time there before they began slowly building a coalition once more, but he wasn’t aware of any within their ranks now who’d tangled with Burning Rescue before joining them. He would ask Gueira and Meis about it later. 

“…Can you feel this?”

“Mm. It tickles a little.”

Lio instantly drew his hand away, frowning at himself. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not—it was fine,” Thymos said, a bit gamely, but he didn’t offer his arm again, for which Lio was silently grateful. Instead, he moved on to his other arm, then began working up a lather to soap up his hair. “You got any scars?”

“…Do I have any _scars_?” Lio repeated blankly, and Thymos nodded.

“Yeah—like I guess you wouldn’t have burns. Or would you? I don’t know actually, I don’t really get how this all works…” He scrubbed at his face, eyes scrunched shut, then dunked his head and scrubbed some more, slicking his hair back from his face when he came up for air again. “It’s just a question.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care?”

“Why do I _care_?” Thymos laughed, incredulous, and swiped the dripping water from his face. “I mean—it’s conversation. We’ve done it enough times you should recognize it by now, I think. All those times you got onto me for overreacting to simple small talk and now this?” He shook his head, marveling. “You’re weird.”

“I’m not wei—” Lio started, then sighed, reaching for the little soap nub and viciously scrubbing down. “…Sorry, I’m just…a bit on edge tonight.”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

“Is that why you barged in here, then?” 

“I knocked first.”

Lio dunked his head, then began soaping up his hair, and decided he was being childish again. “…I had scars. Small ones, nicks and scrapes that come with being a child. I used to have one here—” He showed Thymos his palm. “—After a tumble from one of the lemon trees in the back garden. My mother had warned me not to climb them, and like any boy I soundly ignored her.”

Thymos squinted. “Looks fine to me…”

“Mm. They disappeared once I became Burnish. The flames consume us—but they heal our bodies as well. So long as we live, our bodies can be destroyed and rebuilt again and again and again. Nothing can harm us—unless we choose to allow it.”

“Why the heck would you ‘choose to allow it’?”

Lio tucked his hair behind his ear, brandishing the pinpoint hole in his lobe. “With practice, we can learn to redirect the flame and slow the healing process. It’s not entirely different from the focus used to build constructs—simply a matter of manipulating the flames that burn at our core.”

Thymos nodded, like he understood, though the contemplative frown on his lips suggested this was not the case. They continued to bathe in silence, the only sounds the splash and plop of water sloshing and dripping, and Lio wondered which of them would be the first to get out. Too long, and Gueira and Meis might come looking for him, and that was not a conversation he was prepared to have with his generals just yet.

“You ever played ‘Two Truths and a Lie’?”

Lio glanced at Thymos out of the corner of his eye. Had he been drinking the bathwater? “…No,” he said carefully. 

“It’s easy: I’ll say three things about myself, and you have to guess which two of them are true, and which one’s a lie.”

“The rules weren’t difficult to deduce.”

“Great. Okay, let’s see…” Thymos tapped his chin, and Lio got the unsettling feeling this had been an invitation to _play_ the game.

“We aren’t playing a game, idiot—we’re bathing.”

“Well yeah, but—” Thymos shrugged. “We’re mostly done, right?”

“Then we should _get out_.”

“But it’s _really_ warm still!” Thymos demonstrated just how warm by sinking down into the now-murky, soapy water, up to his nose, and blowing bubbles. “Relax a little and just play along. At least until the water gets too cold for comfort?”

“I’ll never notice, will I?”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then.” Thymos waggled his brows. “Sooo?” As his only other option was to leave, and he was lacking in the confidence Thymos had to stroll around in the nude, Lio motioned for him to continue, and Thymos clapped excitedly, then rubbed his palms together. “All right, all right, let’s see… Okay: I was born in Promepolis, I can hold my breath for three minutes, and I’ve never had a drink in my life.” 

Meaningless banalities, but Thymos looked like he’d thought hard on them, so Lio humored him by waiting thirty seconds to respond, screwing up his features in thought. “…The breath-holding bit. That’s the lie.”

Thymos’s face fell. “How’d you guess?”

“Statistically speaking, given your accent and appearance, it’s far more likely you were born in Promepolis than any of the other city-states, and if you _did_ have any drinking tendencies, you would’ve been begging to indulge by now, if for no other reason than a bit of alcohol in your system might’ve made the cold more bearable.”

Thymos perked up at this. “Wait—I do like the idea of being less cold… No time like the present to start, yeah?”

Lio scoffed. “We’re fire-starters, idiot. You really think we keep alcohol lying around?”

“Oh.” Thymos slumped back against the tub, sighing. “All right, your turn, now.”

And Lio supposed that, having started the game, he ought to see it to its end. He mulled over a few choice options before deciding. “I was born in Wiltshire, I can hit a target with a bow at two hundred paces, and I have a matching tattoo to go with Gueira’s and Meis’s.”

“Hah!” Thymos crowed almost instantly. “I know this one!” He shook a finger in Lio’s face, bald triumph scrawled across his features. “‘Wiltshire’—that’s the lie. It’s Detroit, right? You named your bike after it, even.”

Lio couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped as he shook his head. “Sorry, but no. I really _was_ born in Wiltshire. Detroit is where I awakened as a Burnish. It’s the same for Gueira’s and Meis’s cycles.”

Thymos frowned. “…Damn. It didn’t even sound like a real place, I was sure…”

“Of course it’s a real place. Rather a long way from Promepolis, but quite real.” And in truth, Lio hadn’t spent many of his formative years there, so he didn’t have the clearest memory of it either, but it existed. At least, he assumed it was still around. There was no telling, really—he’d been removed from society for long enough now he barely knew what year it was, let alone what was happening on the other side of the planet.

Thymos nodded, like he was humoring Lio—and it struck Lio that he _was_. That was exactly what he was doing, in fact: humoring Lio. He wasn’t making conversation because he genuinely cared; he was demonstrating a rare bit of conniving, and Lio had been utterly blindsided by it. Instantly, his hackles rose. “What is this?”

“What’s what?”

“ _This_. This ‘game’. What do you want?”

And Thymos, for once, didn’t play stupid. Or at least no stupider than he generally played. He gave Lio a long, searching look that was too close to pity for comfort. “…You looked like you could use a distraction.”

“I don’t need a distraction,” Lio huffed, scrubbing at his arms and swiping away the last of the suds. Irritation was quickly subsuming any shame he felt about his body compared to Thymos’s; if it was a warm bath he wanted, Thymos could sit here and enjoy it to his heart’s content. Lio would be elsewhere. “I need to focus.”

“Well, funnily enough, I find that the best thing to help me focus is a good distraction!”

Lio raked him with a glare. “You aren’t making any sense.” For someone so open and unassuming, Thymos could be surprisingly difficult to read at times. Perhaps he was just overthinking the situation, though. He sighed, wiping a hand over his face and slicking his hair back. “…I’m shocked you aren’t encouraging me to go rushing in. You seem the type to suit up as soon as there’s a need to. Foresight sent you on a suicide mission, and you stayed up the entire night poorly memorizing your speech.”

“…I’m going to ignore that slight against my memorization skills because I know you’re under stress.”

“It wasn’t a slight. It was bare facts. You told me yourself—”

“And I could _do_ all that leaping without looking because I knew my team had my back.” He quirked a brow at Lio. “Do you not think your guys have your back? Because they strike me as the sort who’d do just about anything you asked them to.”

Lio didn’t like the unspoken comparison being made between himself and his generals and Foresight and Thymos. “Of course I know they’d support me. But I won’t put them in danger unnecessarily.”

“Sure. _Unnecessarily._ But that’s the thing, isn’t it? My Captain never wanted to put any of us in danger either, but our work was— _is_ —dangerous. All he could do was make sure we were prepared.”

Lio brushed a finger over the surface of the water, drawing shapes in the suds. “And if any of you were, for example, trapped inside a burning building? Would your Captain have kept the others from rushing in after you, for their own safety, or would he have led the charge?”

He was trying to bait Thymos—even he could hear it—and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps because he hated so much showing Thymos this side of himself: the wavering, hesitant leader who really, truly didn’t know what to do. The boy playing at being a man instead of the fearsome leader of Mad Burnish. A fight was as good a distraction as conversation, and Lio held himself better in the former than the latter, when it came to Thymos.

“Neither,” Thymos said, bold and challenging as ever, and _god_ Lio didn’t hate that, not at all. “He’d have hammered out a plan and made sure we _all_ got home safe.” He jutted his chin out. “So if you’re any bit the ‘Boss’ everyone around here calls you, you need to stop getting so wound up and give yourself space to relax and _think_. If you try and force a plan, you’ll leap at the first one that comes to mind, and that one’s bound to be full of holes. Let your thoughts slow down so solutions— _good_ solutions—have a chance to settle in your mind. Epiphanies come when you aren’t looking for them, I hear.”

And hell, it was actually _good advice_. “…Like when you’re distracted?” he said, and Thymos clapped a hand against the water sharply, sending up a spray.

“Exactly! You get it!”

Lio nodded, allowing himself a wondering little smile—then quickly sobered, staring blankly at Thymos. “…Why don’t you hate me?” He could almost feel the chill settling between them as Thymos’s good humor deflated, and he swallowed a thick knot of guilt. “I took you from your friends—people you care for. I’m keeping you here, hundreds of miles away from civilization, from a job you clearly felt fulfilled in, duties you’re bound to.” He shook his head. “If the tables were turned…I doubt a day would go by I didn’t try to kill you or escape—or both.”

Thymos let his gaze go distant, and a soft smile curled at his lips. “…When I was little, there used to be this poster hanging in my room. Not anything cool, like a motorcycle or a lion or anything: just this cheesy mantra. ‘A place for everything, and everything in its place’. I guess so I remembered to clean up after myself.” Having spent the past month living with Thymos, Lio could comfortably say it hadn’t stuck. Young Galo Thymos evidently had as difficult a time remembering things as adult Galo Thymos. “I won’t bullshit you, Lio: I don’t like being kept here. I don’t like being away from my squad—I don’t like them thinking I’m dead. But…that’s all. I just don’t like it. I can live with it—and I’ve decided I’m going to, until like we said: one of us convinces the other we’re right.” He rubbed nervously at the back of his neck, frowning to himself. “…You say things about Kray that…that make me wonder. And how you look out for the Burnish under your care, the goals and dreams you talk about—it makes me think that…maybe I’m meant to be _here_ right now. Rather than back in Promepolis.”

Lio felt his chest tighten, and his stomach twisted in fluttering knots. He licked his lips. “Then—you finally believe me? About Foresight, about what he’s done to us? To _you_?”

But Thymos only shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe, sorry. Like I said: I’m not gonna bullshit you. But…that just makes me want to find out the truth. Whatever it turns out to be. I mean, either way, someone wanted me dead—that I’ll give you—and Kray…he isn’t making much of an effort to find me, even though there’s clearly no body.” He wrinkled his nose sourly. “It doesn’t make me feel good, I’ll say that.”

“…I suppose having your world turned upside down is rarely a pleasant experience, no matter the context.”

“Speaking from experience?” Lio fixed him with a look that said _don’t be as stupid as you sound_ , and Thymos ducked a nod. “No, it’s not…but it’s easier if you’ve got someone there to share the burden with.” Lio gave a start, blinking. Thymos’s tone was light and casual, but the words struck a chord in him, and he felt his cheeks and ears tingle. But then Thymos continued, just as casual: “Like you guys—you try and help out new Burnish, right? Catch ‘em when they’re newbies and show them how to control themselves better? Support them when they’re going through a tough time.”

Lio swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “…Yeah. Yes. It can be scary. Especially for the children.”

“I’ll bet. So they’re lucky to have you. A level-headed leader who’ll sit back and consider the playing field before acting. Who’ll think about everything that can possibly go wrong as well as what needs to happen for it to all go right. Someone who knows when he needs to cool off, to take a breather, and who finds himself someplace nice and quiet to do so instead of having a meltdown in front of the whole camp.”

Lio arched a brow. “Someone who has to get a lecture from an interloper?”

“Hey, this is _primo_ advice from the Great Galo Thymos. I usually charge for these pearls of wisdom.”

“And how has that been going for you? Not well, I assume, given you had to take a second job with Burning Rescue.”

“I do _that_ for love of the craft, I’ll have you know. Plus, I mean, how _cool_ are firefighters? There’s nothing more awesome than a guy who stakes his life on putting out fires!”

“I’m afraid I can’t relate; I prefer to start them myself.”

Thymos swiped his hand over the surface of the water with a loud _SLAP_ , splashing Lio in the doing. “Come on, no one ever saved someone by setting them on fire.”

And because Lio was still feeling a touch childish, he returned the gesture, leaving Thymos a sputtering mess. “Fire is crucial for human survival. Without it, we’d still be shivering in caves and eating our food raw. It destroys and restores. It’s pure and it’s violent all at once. It gives us life and breath and sustenance as much as it takes away.”

“You take ‘pyromaniac’ really literally, huh?”

Lio tossed his head with a scoff, the moment broken, and decided enough was more than enough. He shifted on the bench, lifting a leg to heave himself out of the tub—

—when Thymos grabbed his wrist, holding him fast. “Hey. It was a joke.”

In the wrong tone, those words could have turned Lio’s mood fouler, but spoken as they were—soft and serious and genuine—they gave Lio pause. “…You really don’t understand us at all, do you?” It wasn’t an accusation; mere wonder, a bit disappointed. All the time they’d spent together, even with the circumstances being what they were, and it felt like Thymos was no closer to seeing where Lio and his people were coming from than when they’d first met.

“…No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” And he did sound sorry. He loosened his grip and curled his fingers around Lio’s wrist, holding rather than grabbing now. Lio let him, even though they both knew Lio could free himself at any point. “I’m trying, though. I do want to. It’s just…hard.”

“…It’s not, really.”

“To get to know you? Yeah, it is.”

And maybe it was, at that. Perhaps that was why Thymos resorted to ridiculous games like “Two Truths and a Lie.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Thymos’s grip loosened more, and he slid his hand up Lio’s forearm, resting just at the knob of his elbow. Somehow, in the doing, he’d slid across the bench, until he was close, too close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Lio found himself inexplicably conscious of the heavy, oppressive heat in the air. The steam clinging to their bodies, and the close, constricting atmosphere. He hated it, had not missed the way this sort of heat crushed and suffocated—but he couldn’t move. Thymos was still holding him, but only just barely—it was his eyes, that insistent, honest gaze that drilled right into Lio’s core and wouldn’t let him go.

Thymos swallowed, throat bobbing, and opened his mouth to speak—

 _BAM BAM BAM_. “ _Boss! The hunting party’s back! Come check out these crazy-big deer they found!_ ”

“ _They aren’t ‘deer’, idiot. They’re caribou._ ”

“ _Which is a fancy word for reindeer, so: DEER._ ”

Thymos released him—from both his gaze and his grip—and shifted back to his side of the tub in a smooth, fluid motion that almost looked intentional. 

Lio somehow both loved and hated his generals in that moment, at once relieved they’d broken the strange tension between himself and Thymos and irritated he hadn’t been able to hear Thymos explain himself. _“Why wouldn’t I?”_ It was a question that, Lio knew, would keep him awake well into the watches of the night, ironically while Thymos snored away contentedly.

He sank back under the water, releasing his frustration in a stream of bubbles, and swept back his hair, wiping a hand over his face when he surfaced again. Thymos had his arms braced against the side of the tub now, lids heavy as he glanced at the shadows bobbing and weaving just on the other side of the frosted glass. 

“They’ll probably break down the door if you don’t go.”

“It wouldn’t be without precedent,” Lio sighed, and Thymos snickered. Lio gave him a small, wry little grin—it felt forced just now, but if he kept at it, perhaps it would eventually settle onto his features. He wove his hands through the water, carefully directing his Burnish flame to his fingertips until steam began to rise fresh from the surface and Thymos burbled a sigh of pleasure, slumped against the side of the tub.

“You’re the best, Lio.” The curious intensity was blessedly gone from Thymos’s voice, and he was once more the amiable buffoon. Lio felt a bit of the tension threading through his shoulders ease.

“Hm. Don’t fall asleep in here. You’ll overheat.”

Thymos waved him off. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I’m the boss of everyone in this camp. Lecturing interlopers included, Galo Thymos.”

And then, before he thought better of it, Lio eased up and out of the tub, taking his time as he walked back to the changing area so that Thymos got a good look at the dark scribble of 王刃— _King’s Blade_ the artist had assured him it said, though for all Lio knew it might read _pompous prick_ —just at the small of his back over his right ass cheek. 

One hand settled on the door handle, he called back over his shoulder, “For the record, I can hit a target at _five_ hundred paces.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was two days later when word finally came, and while Lio had thought himself braced for the worst, he’d been sorely mistaken.

It wasn’t a squad that came back—it wasn’t even a squad _leader_. It was Magnus, the youngest member of Squad 2 and the only one to have escaped. He’d taken twice as long coming back as he had going because he’d been all alone with only the most rudimentary of an understanding where their settlement even _was_. Lio had wanted his report before he’d even had a chance to discorporate his Burnish cycle, but Gueira and Meis had convinced him to at least wait long enough for the poor boy to catch his breath and get some food in his stomach.

On the bright side, they’d found the black-site property where Burnish were rumored to have been transported after their capture by Freeze Force. On the dark side…they’d found the black-site property where Burnish were rumored to have been transported after their capture by Freeze Force. 

Everyone in the squad but Magnus, including two sub-lieutenants, had been captured, and he’d only avoided the same fate as his fellow squad members because he’d been tasked with returning to the settlement with word of what they’d found should the others get captured. 

“It was…it was _bad_ , Boss. The place is just this massive fortress in the middle of a huge, frozen lake—there’s no chance of sneaking up, you’ll be spotted a mile away, literally. We couldn’t even get through the front door to find out what’s going on inside, but…”

Meis laid a hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Speak up. But what?”

Magnus fixed Lio with a hollow look. “…There was a big pit in the back, dug into the ice. They were…they were filling it with _ash_. They hauled out body bags full of the stuff, every day for three days straight. I think…I think it was—”

“Thank you, Magnus,” Lio said, quickly and softly with barely restrained fury. “You’re dismissed. Please, find a pallet and get some rest. You’ve more than earned it—we’ll handle things from here.”

Magnus nodded, then quickly scurried away, clearly relieved he hadn’t had to go into further, more gruesome detail concerning the horrors he’d witnessed. Lio felt ashamed he’d forced that much from him as it was.

Once Magnus was out of earshot, Lio sprang to his feet, pacing. “…We’ll rescue them, of course.”

“Hell yeah, we will,” Gueira said, though his tone was menacing with threat. “What do you think—get Squads 1, 3, and 4 to run backup? Coreolus and his gang are out on another supply run, so they’re out. Might be overkill, but better safe than sorry.”

Lio shook his head, blood boiling. “No. Just us. We can’t know if Magnus was followed back; I won’t leave this camp defenseless while we hare off on a rescue mission. This won’t be smash and grab—it’ll have to be stealth.”

Meis crossed his arms. “The kid said stealth didn’t look feasible.”

“His and my definitions of ‘feasible’ might differ; I’m willing to take that chance. Should we need to fight…” He took a breath. “Then we’ll fight. It’s that simple.”

This seemed to satisfy Meis. “When do you want to leave? First light? Or wait for sundown tomorrow?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“ _Fiftee_ —?!” Meis sputtered, but Lio was already out the door, making for his quarters. He needed a pack—he didn’t intend for them to be gone nearly as long as Magnus’s squad, so they could travel lighter, but they would still need sustenance. Protein bars and energy drinks would be his bread and butter for the next week at least. He’d drive them hard and fast, but he trusted Gueira and Meis would be able to keep up. They’d led Mad Burnish on their own for years before Lio had stepped in and were a fearsome duo in their own right.

He found his rucksack in the back of the wardrobe, buried beneath a floral-patterned throw one of the matrons had knit for Thymos. He tossed the pack onto the bed, unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk and tearing into the brand new pack of protein bars Meis had found for him on a recent run. He dumped the lot into the sack, shaking it to settle them. Energy drinks would be in the mess—

“We going on a trip?” Thymos called from the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed. 

“No,” Lio said, wondering if he ought to bother with any winter gear. He wouldn’t need it, but if he had to shed his armor for stealth at any point, it might be useful camouflage. In his black suit, he’d be easily spotted against the snow—something that wouldn’t happen bundled up in a downy white coat. “I am. Gueira and Meis and I have business to take care of. Oh.” He turned with a frown. “…Sorry, but you’ll have to bear the cold for a bit while I’m away. Or I’m sure one of the others would be happy to…be your heater, if you asked nicely.” He hastily shoved aside the nasty little gremlin of jealousy that poked its head up at that thought. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back. The roads will be treacherous, when we can find them, but I’ll try to return as quickly as—”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m coming with you.”

Lio snapped up straight, baffled. “You—what? Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re not.”

“I’m not being ridiculous. And I _am_ coming.” Thymos marched into the room proper, rifling around under the bed and yanking out what looked to be an old military duffel. When Thymos drew the zip, Lio could see a cache of empty-calorie junk food, horded away. When on _earth_ had he…?

Lio’s frown twisted from one of irritation to dark suspicion. “…You were planning on fleeing?”

“I was planning for any eventuality. We’re out on the last frontier here, and I’m the only one without a built-in heater. I wanted to be _prepared_. So don’t give me the stink eye. Especially since you know damn well you’d have done the same in my position.”

And Thymos was, of course, absolutely right. Lio brushed him aside. “You’re still not coming.”

“Sorry, but I am.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Lio said, stamping his foot even though he knew it made him look half his age. “You’ll get yourself killed. This is a Burnish fight—we’re going to hit one of Foresight’s black-site facilities, and I know you’ve got a shoddy memory, but surely you’ll recall what happened the _last_ time you got between us and Freeze Force.”

Thymos was not cowed, though: “Sounds like you’re running the risk of getting yourselves killed as well. I think you need all the help you can get.”

“I need people who can _fight_ —”

“I can fight.”

“I need _Burnish_ who can fight,” Lio quickly corrected, and Thymos—shockingly— _grinned_.

“Maybe. Or maybe you just need fighters who won’t get mowed down immediately. And I think I’d stand a hell of a better chance of not dying if I was suited up in some of your fancy Burnish armor.”

Had he caught a fever? “I can’t give you _armor_.”

“Sure you can! You made those cuffs for me! And the helmet!” He boasted of these items as if they’d been carefully chosen gifts and not tools to keep him in line. Perhaps he _had_ caught a fever. 

“And as I told you before, it takes an _incredible_ amount of concentration for me to craft such constructs when I’m not connected to them physically. How are you going to be any use at all if I have to hold your hand the entire time, _literally_?”

Thymos seemed to consider this. “…You could ride on my shoulders?” Lio barely reined in the urge to just clock him. “I’m saying it’d be _worth_ it. I’m quick on my feet and good in a fight. I can punch shit _really_ good—just ask Gueira. Plus—” He held up a finger. “If you leave me behind, I’m just gonna follow you. And with this stash, maybe I’ll make it…I dunno, a couple hundred meters before I get frostbite and die? Maybe you’d find me in the spring, if that even exists way up here.” He gave Lio a long look. “Now do you want that? After you worked so hard to keep me alive?”

Fuck, Thymos wasn’t going to back down. He’d hound Lio up until he hopped on Detroit and sped off, and then who knew what mischief he might get up to. There was a not insignificant chance, even, that he might manage to convince one of the other squads to follow with him, and then they’d _really_ be in shit.

So, reluctantly, he considered the proposition. They weren’t supposed to be fighting at all, actually—this was meant to be a stealth mission, in and out with their people before an alarm was raised. That of course meant that Thymos was quite the _worst_ person to come along, as he didn’t seem to have a subtle bone in his body, but given Lio had already made a fuss about needing muscle, if he changed his tune now, Thymos would assume he was lying and they’d be back at square one.

The construct _would_ require a massive amount of concentration, Lio hadn’t been lying, but…he wasn’t unequal to the task. And a small, very very tiny part of him…was almost looking forward to the challenge. That bit, he suspected, had bled over from Thymos after so many nights sharing a bed. It was probably going to get him killed on this very mission.

“…Fine,” he bit out. “Come if you insist. Let it be on your head.” He then turned back to his rucksack, counting out the contents to be sure he had enough food to make the journey comfortably. It would be difficult driving, and they might be forced off the road unexpectedly. Better to be overprepared than starve in a snow-covered cave.

Thymos sauntered over to the bed, settling on the mattress next to Lio’s pack, and stared up at him. Lio could see him, watching, out of the corner of his eye and did his very best to ignore him, pretending to be focused on the task at hand. But Thymos had always been difficult to ignore, and Lio was no more inured to his presence now than he’d been that first meeting in the ruins of the old strip mall. He grit his teeth and ground out sharp, “ _What_? What now? You’re set on getting yourself killed, so I’ve magnanimously given you my blessing. Or would you like me to dispatch you myself? I’ll at least be quicker about it than Freeze Force or Foresight might.”

“No,” Thymos said, frustratingly even. Lio was planning on setting out as soon as he secured enough energy drinks for the trip, and if Thymos wasn’t ready, then he’d merrily leave him behind. “I want you to slow down.”

“Fat chance of _that_ ,” Lio huffed dryly, shaking his head.

“Try anyway. Take a breath.”

“I don’t have _time_ to take a breath. My people are out there— _good people_ —and they might already be _dead_ and—” Thymos slid off the bed, stepping in close, and Lio shoved him away violently, stepping back and pacing angrily. “Don’t _patronize_ me. I’m not a child who needs to be spoiled, despite appearances.”

“I don’t think you’re a child.”

Lio scoffed. “No?”

“No. I think you’re being stupid—but you’re being a stupid adult. Not a stupid kid.” Thymos scowled. “And that’s more dangerous.”

Lio felt his cheeks and ears tingle with the flush of offense. “How _dare_ you—”

“No, how dare _you_? How _dare_ you not have your shit together? How _dare_ you be standing here, scrambling and panicked, because you heard pretty much _exactly what you thought you were gonna hear_. God, use your fucking head.”

“Use my—oh, that’s _rich_ coming from you.”

“Yeah, I know it is. So why are you making me say it? It feels all kinds of wrong. Rushing into a fight without thinking is _my_ thing. Not yours.” He jerked a thumb at the rucksack. “Throwing together a mission last-minute? That’s not what leaders do. Leaders who’re responsible for their people and take their job seriously.” He poked Lio in the chest. “That’s not what _you_ do.”

Lio slapped his hand away. “They might be _dead_ now, reduced to so much ash, all because of me. Because _I_ sent them, probably to their deaths. And they went—happily even—because I asked it. These people, _my_ people, would do most anything for me. Don’t I owe it to them to do the same in return?”

“Of course you do. And it fucking sucks they’re in danger, maybe hurt—maybe even dead. But you getting yourself killed in the attempt because you went off half-cocked won’t bring them back, and it certainly won’t save them if they’re by some miracle still alive. It’ll just take away their last hope.”

And Lio knew, deep down, that Thymos was right. He was an idiot, but not stupid. Burning Rescue certainly faced its share of danger, and Thymos himself had probably found himself in a situation where one of his comrades had been in danger and he’d been spoiling to rush in and save them, damning his own safety. He’d had the luxury, though, of having a leader with a cool enough head to force him to stand down while they hashed out a proper plan.

It didn’t make the waiting any bit more bearable, though, and the faces of the unfortunates in Squad 2 flashed in his mind as he tossed his rucksack into the corner. “…We’ll leave in twenty-four hours,” he said, the words bitter on his tongue, and he silently prayed he hadn’t just doomed the poor souls trapped in that facility in the doing.

Gueira and Meis seemed relieved to have more time to prep the camp for their departure. “We’ll double the watch while we’re gone,” Meis said. “There’s supplies enough to last at least two weeks, longer with rationing, so they can lie low for a while without attracting any attention. That’ll free Squad 5 up to fight, too, if necessary.”

“Let’s hope it won’t be,” Lio said, then softly, so as not to be overheard. “…Have you told Coreolus? What he’s to do if…”

“He knows,” Meis said with a grim smile. “But it won’t come to that.”

Gueira clapped him on the shoulder, giving a gentle shake. “We got it handled, Boss. You get some rest—you’re gonna need your strength.”

Lio felt a guilty knot form in his stomach. He hadn’t mentioned to his generals about Thymos joining them—and he didn’t particularly want to bring it up just now. Better to wait until they had no choice but to set off immediately, without protest. He’d heard enough lectures for one evening.”

He let himself be chivvied off to bed only after extracting a promise from the pair that they’d find their own way to bed soon. He wanted them all in top form for the journey, and it would be short, rough-sleeping nights for the foreseeable future. 

Thymos had not followed him after their argument, and Lio found him precisely where he’d left him: still piecing through the old duffel he’d dragged out from under the bed, though he’d shed his daytime gear for fleece-lined sleepwear. “You think I’ve got enough food in here?”

“For a small army? Certainly. For you? Debatable.” Thymos chucked something at his head, and Lio snatched it from the air, frowning. “…More junk food?”

“Yeah, but _read the name,_ ” Thymos urged. “ _Snowballs_. Get it? ‘Cause you’re Burnish? And I just threw one at—” He left off when Lio just continued to frown. “Forget it.”

Lio was perfectly happy to forget the ‘Snowball’. Food was not meant to be such a shocking shade of pink, it just wasn’t. He readied for bed in silence, and he could feel Thymos watching him all the while—though he never spoke. It was a bit unnerving, the absence of the usual prattle that didn’t stop, even after lights-out.

The dam broke finally just as Lio had extended a hand, paring down the little spark he let burn inside an old lantern to a soft glowing ember as he drew the bulk of it back into himself.

“…Are you still pissed about not leaving tonight?” Thymos asked, and Lio sighed, falling back against his pillow and staring up at the ceiling.

“…No. Yes. What do you think?”

“I think you’re being quieter than usual.”

“Perhaps that’s only because you’re usually babbling incessantly.”

“Nah; I like to hear myself talk, sure, but you’re pretty decent conversation yourself.” And then, displaying unusual insight, he asked, “…You still don’t want me coming with you?”

“No, I don’t,” Lio said, closing his eyes. There really wasn’t anything further to say on the subject, if Thymos was insistent on tagging along.

“Why, though? You need the backup, and I _want_ to help.”

Lio slapped the mattress with a fist. “It’s _not your fight_.” Thymos wasn’t Burnish, he wasn’t one of them—he was just a firefighter from Promepolis who’d been a patsy for yet another of Foresight’s heinous schemes. He was meant to stay here, to keep his head down, and to _survive_. 

“It sure as hell is my fight!” Thymos protested, shifting up onto his elbows. “My fight’s any fight worth fighting.”

Lio wasn’t even going to bother trying to understand that logic. He eased upright, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his forehead on them. “This is a _Burnish_ problem—and Burnish should solve it.”

“You’re humans too, though. You’ve got…well, you’ve got some ‘quirks’ we’ll say; quirks that make people afraid of you, usually when they’ve got no reason to be. But you’re normal people, just like anyone else. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t want to help you?”

One liable to live longer, Lio suspected. “Helping out strangers is what gets people killed,” he said instead.

“Then what were you doing dragging me back to your camp, huh? I recall something about honor, or maybe it was pride? Respecting yourself enough you couldn’t stomach the thought of turning your back on someone in need? Plus—” He shrugged. “You’re not a stranger anyway.”

Lio felt his chest tighten, then swallowed. “…It makes no sense for you to risk your life for us. We’ve shown you nothing but the worst Burnish have to offer—”

“Bullshit,” Thymos snorted, reaching out to punch him lightly on the arm. “Granted, your hospitality can use a little work—I generally like to be invited over to someone’s place rather than kidnapped and brought there against my will—but…you’ve got your reasons, I guess. And sometimes manners have to be set aside when safety’s on the line.” 

“Accepting your lot and embracing it are two different things, you know.”

“Yeah. But what can I say? I’ve got a thing for saving people, and I can’t let you have all the fun. And it certainly doesn’t hurt I’m gonna get some pretty slick gear in the process.” He waggled his brows. “You’ll finally get to see me in action.”

“I’ve seen you in action _plenty_. I’ve not really been impressed.”

“That’s because I was taking it easy on you!”

“Oh?”

“You were holding back with me, after all, so I thought it only polite.”

“How magnanimous is the Great Galo Thymos.”

“Damn straight. And even holding back, I still handed you your ass on _several_ occasions.”

“I don’t quite remember it that way.”

“Hey now, I’m supposed to be the one with memory problems—not you. But don’t worry, I’m happy to remind you whenever you need to brush up. I believe we’re at seven for me and four for you?”

“Try twelve for me and nine for you.” He settled back down, lifting the coverlet to draw over his shoulder—

But Thymos laid a hand on his arm, stilling him with as intense an expression as he’d ever worn. 

Lio’s throat went dry, catching when he spoke again: “Thy—mos?”

“Don’t do that again,” Thymos said, suddenly serious, and Lio felt it as a palpable gravity, tugging at him. 

All mirth was gone from his gaze, and Lio shivered. “…Don’t do what?” Had he misspoken? It had only been a bit of verbal sparring, though Thymos could be oddly sensitive at times.

“Rush off. Without me.”

And _oh_. Were they still having this conversation? Lio sighed. “You would have been taken care of—I’m quite sure the others would have looked out for you, even if…” He frowned to himself. “…Even if I didn’t come back, for whatever reason. They wouldn’t have turned you out—and you might have even been able to convince them to send you on your way come spring.”

But Thymos only shook his head, releasing his grip on Lio to scrub at his hair in frustration. “That’s not— _I’m_ the one.”

Lio wasn’t following; Thymos was making even less sense than usual. “What?”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to rush in. The one on the front lines. People like me. Maybe like Gueira and Meis, too. Not _you_.” His eyes were dark, even in the low light of the Burnish ember flickering in its little glass cage. “You’re who we protect. Who we have watching out for us.”

Lio felt irritation spear through him, and he sat up with a huff. “That’s not how we operate. I’ve never been a leader who stands back and lets others take risks he wouldn’t. If I could have, I’d have been out with those squads doing recon myself—”

“Yeah, I know that. And I like that, actually. A lot. Just…” Thymos hardened his jaw. “Just don’t do it without me.”

Without him? _Without_ him? As if they were meant to handle these sorts of missions together? As if Thymos was one of them? How many times would he have to explain to Thymos that he _wasn’t_ one of them?

…How many times would Thymos have to explain to him that _that didn’t matter_?

Lio rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. This all felt too _much_. Too heavy, too complicated. He’d liked it better when things with Thymos were simple. Easy. He never should have hitched that ice block to Detroit. He’d known it had been a mistake even as he’d done it, and nothing he’d experienced since then had made him see differently.

Yet here they were, still. “…We should get some sleep.”

It wasn’t a response, but Thymos nodded. “…Yeah, we should.”

“We’ll have a long day tomorrow, and an even longer night. The coordinates Magnus gave put the facility far to the east and not much further south.”

“So I shouldn’t pack my bikini, is what you’re saying?” Lio rolled his eyes, and Thymos flopped down onto his pillow, grinning up at him. “That’s fine. You’ll just have to give me a bitching suit of armor to make up for it.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Lio woke the next morning, for once, he found himself alone in bed—Thymos typically had to be dragged into the waking world, but he’d proven an unexpectedly early riser on this occasion. That, Lio supposed in hindsight, should have been his first clue all was not as it seemed.

After his morning toilette, Lio made his way to the mess hall. There was rather a lot of work yet to be done before they could depart that evening, and Lio intended to make sure the camp would run smooth as butter while they were gone—and beyond, if it came to it. 

But neither his generals nor Thymos were lounging in the mess hall, waiting for breakfast rations to be served—nor were they in the communal areas or the bunker where the bulk of their group slept. None he asked seemed to know where any of the three were, and Lio’s concern was beginning to edge into worry when Gueira’s brash, cawing laughter floated out from the open door leading to the rehearsal hall where Thymos liked to spar.

“—give it too much thought, it’s mostly instinctual. Like Meis, his armor’s built for speed, and mine’s built for power. You want to go in and hit fast and then get out quick again, then Meis is your guy. You want someone who hits like a truck and can take a couple shots of Freeze Fire without breaking a sweat? You call in me.”

“And what about Lio?” Thymos said.

“What _about_ Lio?” Lio called from the doorway, nose twitching as his eye fell on what looked like a fresh pot of coffee at Meis’s hip. Meis caught him looking, then held up a little styrofoam cup in temptation. Lio, of course, promptly gave in. He needed all the energy he could get today, so why not get this first shot of caffeine in early?

Gueira seemed to mull this over. “Boss’s armor is…” He made a face, then shrugged. “Built to win, I guess. Kinda like Boss himself.”

Lio felt his cheeks tingle and hid the blush in a sip of the steaming, black coffee. He’d always been partial to tea before becoming Burnish, but after his awakening, he’d had an insatiable craving for coffee—dark and bitter and scalding, perhaps it fit. “…Any particular _reason_ we’re all discussing our armor?”

Meis jerked a thumb at Thymos. “Because this one asked us if we got to choose how it looked.” He fixed Lio with a knowing frown. “‘S there something we oughta know, Boss?”

Damn; he’d half been hoping Thymos would have taken care of this bit himself. “…Thymos is coming with us.”

“Coming wi—what, to the _black-site_?” Meis sputtered. “But—he’s not Burnish! He’ll get slaughtered”

“You aren’t telling me anything I haven’t already reminded him of. And he won’t get slaughtered—at least not outright—if he’s got armor.”

Gueira straightened. “Wait—you’re gonna give him _armor_? Burnish armor?” He made a face. “You can do that?”

“It’s not impossible,” Lio said, reflecting on the little construct he’d practiced with before coming down to the mess. He’d left the tiny dragon statue sitting on his desk while he washed his face, dressed, and finished preparing his rucksack. Thirty minutes with barely a thought given to it, and it had still seemed whole and stable. A trinket he could fit in the palm of his hand was a far cry from an entire suit of Burnish armor, true, but it had given him a confidence boost. “He’s still not convinced Foresight is the monster we know him to be—I say let him see for himself just the sort of horrors he’s capable of.”

“Hey, assholes: I’m right here.” Thymos had his arms crossed over his chest, lips pinched into a sour frown.

“Yes, you’re rather difficult to miss,” Lio sighed. He set aside the empty cup. “So? Have you decided how you want this armor of yours to look?”

“So I _do_ get to decide?” Thymos glanced back at Meis and Gueira. “They said theirs just came naturally.”

“And so they did. But I’m building you a construct—so I’ll need a bit of guidance. If you’d like it to look like mine, or Meis’s or Gueira’s, that’s fine—but if you have a request, then speak up. I mean to get this settled so we can leave promptly after dinner.”

Thymos rubbed his chin in thought, and when he asked, “It can be _anything_?” Lio began to have serious second thoughts. 

But having come this far, he would see it through. “Within reason. You’ll need to be able to move—and don’t discount comfort. You’ll be spending rather a lot of time locked inside this construct, so choose the shape wisely.”

Thymos grinned, wild and reckless. “Then I want it to be just like my Matoi Tech!”

Lio stared at him blankly. “…I haven’t a clue what that is.”

Thymos seemed prepared for this, though, for he was already scurrying over to an old, dusty chalkboard on wheels. He snatched up a nub of chalk and began scribbling out a child-like sketch that Lio could barely make heads or tails of. “It’s like this! And my arms are here, and my legs are here, and there’s this helmet thingee here, and these cool-ass flags hanging off it—” He pointed to what Lio had to assume were squiggles to indicate motion, so he knew the flags were waving in the imaginary wind. “And the shape’s modeled off of these old-timey firefighters they used to have in Asia, where—”

“Can either of you translate?” Lio asked, turning to Gueira and Meis. Thymos could be a chore to get a straight answer out of on the best of days, and it was only worse when you got him started on a topic he held a genuine interest in. “Have you seen this thing?”

“No, but I’d say Varlo _definitely_ has… He’s gonna be _pissed_ when he realizes it was this guy inside the suit the whole time,” Gueira said, tone bitter. He jerked a thumb at Thymos. “He pulled some dirty tricks with it, too. Don’t do it, Boss.”

“I didn’t pull any tricks!” Thymos protested. “A weapon’s a weapon! You use whatever you’ve got to get the job done, right?” He turned to Lio. “This is the suit I know how to handle best. It’s the one I’m most comfortable in, _and_ it’s the one I’ve apparently kicked _several_ of your lieutenants’ asses in.”

“Ganging up on someone by calling in backup isn’t ‘kicking our asses’, jagoff,” Gueira sneered, showing Thymos a finger.

“Remember what I said about _not_ antagonizing?” Lio reminded. “Especially not antagonizing someone you’ll want watching your back in the very near future?” Thymos relented, though Lio thought he could see him mumbling under his breath. He studied the board again, liking what he saw no more now than when Thymos had first started scribbling. “…This is ridiculous. You’re going to look like a _fool_.” How on earth was he meant to craft _flags_ , even? Thymos was going to have to live without those, he decided.

“Not _going_ to,” Meis snickered. “Already _has_ looked like one.”

“Looks like one now, really,” Gueira added with a teasing leer, and Thymos stamped his foot.

“Do they not get lectured about antagonizing too?” He fixed Gueira and Meis with a dark glower. “Running around looking like an oversized cockroach or a fucked-up minotaur looks pretty weird too, but you don’t see me giving _you_ shit about it!”

Gueira sputtered indignantly and looked like he was gearing up for another ten rounds, so Lio quickly cut him off with, “Fine. You want to look like an idiot, I’ll make you look like an idiot. Then you’ll only have yourself to blame.” 

He tugged off his gloves as he walked over to Thymos, who had his chest puffed out in pride. “I’m not gonna look like an _idiot_. I’m gonna look like a _badass_.”

“If you say so. Now—off.” He tugged at the sleeve of Thymos’s parka. It was bulky and cumbersome and would undoubtedly be difficult to move in. Cocooned inside the construct, Thymos would be plenty warm, so he could lose a couple of layers safely without sacrificing anything to frostbite.

Thymos gleefully shrugged off the parka—and then, before Lio could stop him, his undershirt was stripped away as well. “You want my pants off too?” he asked, fingers already hooked under the hem, and Lio felt a headache coming on.

“I—no, you didn’t have to…I only meant…” He shook his head. It was a losing battle with this one. Squaring his shoulders, he brought his hands up, palms out, and stepped in close, until the tips of his polished boots kissed Thymos’s hefty snow gear. Carefully, almost reverently, he laid his palms against Thymos’s broad chest—

“Oh,” Thymos said, jumping.

“What?”

“It’s—hot.”

Lio ducked his head. “…Apologies. I’ll try to hold back.”

“Don’t,” Thymos said, soft so only Lio could hear, and his ears _burned_.

He closed his eyes, because there was nowhere appropriate to look and because it helped him focus. Thymos was but an object in his hand, and he was merely building a construct around it. He held the image of the ridiculously flashy ‘Matoi Tech’ in his mind, building it out and shaving it down and honing and pruning as he went. He locked Thymos inside bare, black metal made of flame and heat and will, but even that didn’t feel like enough to cage the larger-than-life spirit that burned like an inferno within Thymos. The full-face mask would disguise him, for what it was worth, but anyone who had tangled with Thymos once would recognize him in a heartbeat. They could only pray any Freeze Force soldiers they came up against had never crossed paths with Burning Rescue.

When Lio stepped back to admire his work, he had to admit that Thymos _did_ look kind of like a badass. Though that was mostly because, well, _everyone_ looked good in black. The armor was nearly as broad across the barrel as Gueira and unashamedly clunky in form, but when Thymos took a few experimental steps, twisting and twirling on awkward little mechanical knuckles, he did so with a fluidity Lio wouldn’t have expected.

But the look didn’t matter—what mattered was that Thymos was _safe_ now. As safe as Lio could make him. The armor covered his vital areas—though it helped nothing he was practically buck naked underneath, and a few direct rounds of Freeze Fire might expose him if vulnerable struts were hit. His face was shielded as well, hidden behind a menacing, toothy grin. This mask was just as important for keeping Thymos safe as the rest of the armor together, for if Foresight learned that his precious patsy was still running around, threatening to undermine his carefully crafted campaign of fear, he’d no doubt use Thymos’s friends and coworkers as bait to lure him into a trap and then finish the job Vulcan had started.

Standing apart, Lio could _feel_ the thread connecting him to Thymos—though, at least for now, he didn’t feel drained by the effort of maintaining the construct. Wordlessly, he swiped his hand, drawing the construct back into himself and leaving Thymos dancing around in his underwear.

“Hey!” he yelped, patting himself down. “What gives?”

“You’re not going to be running around the facility in full Burnish armor all day.”

“Why not?”

“Not enough space for us big, bulky boys!” Gueira crowed, evidently having found some common ground on which he and Thymos could commune. “It’s a tragedy, it really is.”

“Gueira—run him through his paces after lunch. I want his armor broken in before we leave.”

“Wha—?!” Gueira began to protest, only for Meis to slug him on the shoulder.

“Told you to keep your big mouth shut,” he huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You need anything else, Boss?”

He needed his first proper sip of alcohol, he thought, but instead he waved his generals off. “I’ll be down to the mess shortly—tell the others I’ll make an announcement after breakfast.”

They took this for the dismissal it was and quickly, quietly slipped from the rehearsal hall, leaving Lio alone with Thymos. He thought to pour himself another cup of coffee, to steel his inexplicable nerves, but then decided against it. He needed to do this with a clear head; this business with Thymos was complicated enough as it was.

“…I know you’re set on going through with this, and I’ve given you my word I’ll let you come along—and I _will_ —” This, he added, because Thymos looked stricken, likely expecting a rejection coming. “But…I’m going to ask for something from you first.”

Thymos straightened, uncharacteristically sober, and he nodded. “What?”

“Your fealty.”

“Fealty?”

“Loyalty,” Lio clarified. “Your word. Word that you’ll follow me. Listen to me. And do whatever I tell you to. Even if that means running away when I tell you to, if things…if things get out of hand on this mission.”

“Wait,” Thymos said, shaking his head. “All that shit you’ve been giving me about being loyal to someone, swearing myself to someone I barely know, even though I’ve been with him for ten years—and now _this_?”

Lio tossed his head. “Call it whatever you like, then—I’m not asking for blind faith. I’m simply asking you to _listen to me_.”

“I’ve been listening to you!”

“You’ve been _challenging_ me—”

“I told you, you’re not in charge of me.”

“And I’m saying, right now, that I _need to be_. For this mission to go right, I need to know I have people with me who support me.”

Thymos frowned. “…And Gueira, Meis—they’d do whatever you asked? Without a cross word?”

“Yes. Because they trust me.”

“Trusting you’s different from swearing loyalty to you, though,” Thymos said. “So which one are you really asking for? ‘Cause one I can probably do; the other…” He shook his head. “I told you before: I’m not gonna bullshit you.”

Lio let a long beat pass, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, he asked, “And why not?”

“Huh? Why not what?”

“Why _won’t_ you swear loyalty to me? You want to play at being Burnish, pretend like you care about these people—why not? Everyone else here has.”

“And did you corner all of _them_ and make them get down on one knee or kiss your boot or whatever it is you want from me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not asking—”

“You might as well be. You want me to do something grand to show you I trust you. You want some kind of demonstration I’m really on your side. You want that kind of stuff because _you_ still don’t trust _me_.” He sighed. “…I can’t give you anything like that. I’m sorry.” And he did, at least, sound like it. “But maybe I can do something a little more my style?”

“Your style?” Lio repeated, dubious, and Thymos brought a hand up, resting it just over his heart. Lio tried not to let his eye linger on the spangling of scars covering his bare arm—was he not freezing, nearly naked as he was?

“When I was recovering in the hospital after the fire Kray rescued me from, he used to come and visit me. Sometimes he’d bring food, or toys, or games—but this one time he brought me a book. It was about firefighters—firefighters from _all_ over the globe, way back before the Great World Blaze, even. That’s where I learned about the ones from that Asian country, see. But there was this one chapter about firefighters from this _huge_ city—looked a lot like Promepolis, actually—and it was _so_ huge, there used to be _thousands_ of these firefighters who worked day and night to keep it safe. And when someone wanted to join their ranks, they had to get up in front of all their peers and speak an oath.”

Lio held his breath, though he wasn’t quite sure why, and tuned every nerve in his body to Thymos in that moment.

Thymos closed his eyes, his hand still splayed over his heart. “‘I promise concern for others, and a willingness to help all those in need. I promise courage: Courage to face and conquer my fears. Courage to share and endure the ordeal of those who need me. I promise strength of heart to bear whatever burdens might be placed upon me, and strength of body to deliver to safety all those placed within my care. I promise the wisdom to lead, the compassion to comfort, and the love to serve unselfishly whenever I am called.’” He opened his eyes, fixing Lio in place. “I _promise_. All of it.”

Lio’s heart was thudding mercilessly in his chest, and he worried that if he opened his mouth to speak, it might just leap right out. He swallowed thickly to keep it in place and then rasped, “...Grand words for a glorified member of a bucket brigade.” 

“Was hoping you’d be impressed I remembered it, after all these years.”

“I am,” Lio said, taking great pains to ensure his sincerity came through. His heart was still racing, and he thought he felt flushed, though he couldn’t be sure. Was his face red? He didn’t dare glance at the mirror-covered west wall of the room. He licked his lips. “…I suppose if that’s all you can give me…then I’ll have to take it.”

“Those words mean more to me than any other pledge or promise I’ve ever made in my life. I get they might just seem like lip service to you, but _my_ family? It’s full of people who all feel exactly the same way, even if they’ve probably never even heard of ‘The Firefighter’s Oath’. That’s the loyalty _we_ own, and exactly what we expect from one another.” He firmed his lips. “It’s not ‘all I can give you’. It’s _everything_ , Lio.”

And he felt again that somehow, he’d disappointed Thymos. He’d certainly disappointed himself, after all. This man was standing here in front of Lio, a person he ought to despise or at the very least want nothing to do with, ready to march out into the frigid, blustering black to help him rescue his squad. Simply because it was in his nature to want to help, to see a challenge and run at it headlong. And just because he couldn’t show Lio his trust in the way Lio might have preferred didn’t stop him from finding another way to do so. Simply because he knew what it meant to Lio.

God, but this man was _wasted_ on Foresight. He deserved so much better—someone worthy of that sort of loyalty. Someone who appreciated it. Someone who wouldn’t betray it.

“…You’re right,” he said. “It’s more than enough. Thank you.”

And this, at last, seemed to satisfy Thymos, who had never been one to hold grudges beyond his next meal or hot bath. He gave a firm nod, and Lio managed a warm smile in return. “…I suppose we should see to breakfast now,” Lio said, hoping to dispel the strained tension in the atmosphere over one of their last proper meals before it was protein bars and energy drinks for the foreseeable future. He turned on his heel, making for the door—

—when Thymos snapped a hand out, fingers curling around Lio’s wrist and holding him fast. 

Lio frowned down at his hand, tugging gently—and finding no give. “…Thymos? The others are waiting…”

“Let them wait,” Thymos said. “…I’ve given you something important to me, so now I want something equally important in return.”

Lio didn’t know why this sent a thrill down his spine, or even if it was a thrill of terror or something else. What did he have to fear from Thymos? He could put him through the wall without batting a lash. And yet, still. He swallowed, trying not to betray anything as he said, as evenly as he could manage, “And that is?”

“I want you to release me.”

And suddenly Lio wasn’t worried or frightened or touched or anything but _angry_. “ _What_?” he spat, jerking his wrist from Thymos’s grip with a flare of Burnish flame that hopefully had scalded his palms. “Why would you—we must have had this argument a _dozen_ times, and you _damn well know_ —”

“Yeah,” Thymos said, with an irritating calm that only stoked Lio’s fire higher and brighter. “We have. And I do know. I know you wouldn’t have brought me here, wouldn’t be _keeping_ me here, unless you thought you had a good reason.” He stepped in dangerously close for someone keen to avoid third-degree burns on the _rest_ of his body as well. “But that’s different from what I’m asking. You want my trust? Well I want some back.” And Lio didn’t like the sound of that at all, but everything in him was tuned to Thymos just now, and he couldn’t ignore him even if he’d wanted to. “I want your word that, if I wanted to, I could leave—go back to Promepolis—and you wouldn’t hold me here. I’m not saying don’t try and stop me, but don’t _force_ me to stay. Because I don’t want to be your prisoner anymore, not if you want me to fight with you.” Lio did not remind him that _Thymos_ had been the one asking to tag along in the first place. “You shouldn’t want that anyway: someone who’s only there because he’s forced to be, instead of free to make his own decisions.”

There it was. The moment Lio had known would eventually come, when Thymos finally realized that he wasn’t a prisoner anymore in act and so didn’t deserve to be called one by name. And yet, his every instinct told him to _dig in_ , grab on, never let go. To hoard and to hold because he’d lost everything once, and this fragile little family he’d scraped together could be taken from him again just like _that_.

But Thymos didn’t belong here—he never had. He was a free spirit, only spending a bit of time in the cold, dark north, and a part of Lio had always been repulsed by the idea of chaining him up here, locking him in not with fire and fury but with ice and the threat of a slow, frozen death if he ever tried to escape.

Whether he died storming a black-site or racing back to Promepolis, it was no business of Lio’s, and with hands fisted tightly at his sides, he softly bit out, “…Fine. I release you.” 

It felt no better to say it than to do it, and he fought the urge to immediately take it back, to slap those black cuffs back on Thymos’s wrists and lock him safely in their bedroom while Lio and Gueira and Meis completed the mission themselves. No amount of armor could last forever under a barrage of Freeze Fire, and eventually Thymos would be exposed, in every sense of the word, and—

“Thanks,” Thymos sighed, smiling, and Lio shrugged, trying not to let his sour mood show. “Seriously,” he said, then ducked his head down to try and force Lio to meet his eye. “‘Cause now I can do this without you wondering if there was any deeper motive behind it.”

And at that, Lio’s head snapped up, which appeared to be precisely what Thymos had been expecting, for he reached out, took Lio by the chin, and cleanly slotted their lips together.

Lio inhaled sharply, taking an instinctual step back, but then Thymos’s other arm was there, slipped around his waist and steadying him at the hip. He leaned into it, for there was nowhere else to go, and though he meant to shove Thymos away—thought his flames might do it themselves, even—when he brought his hands up, splayed over Thymos’s chest to press for space, they just kept going, crawling up and over his shoulders to brace at the base of his neck and _hold_. To draw him in closer, heavier, hotter. To coil around him and crush him close.

He was lifting on his toes, pressing his whole self against Thymos, and _oh_ this wasn’t happening. Except it very much was—Lio was letting it, enthusiastically so. Thymos smelled like _him_ now, or he smelled like Thymos, and everywhere Thymos touched him—lips, arms, hips, and that _thigh_ sneaking between his legs—burned. Actually _burned_. Lio hadn’t felt heat in he couldn’t remember _how_ long, but Thymos brought an inferno with him, wherever he went.

Lio cocked his head just to the side, adjusting the angle to draw Thymos in deeper, and let one hand slip down to trace the whorling scars spangling over his bicep. Thymos shivered at his touch, which was ironic really, and gasped softly into Lio’s mouth, and Lio had never, in his life, wanted to _not stop_ more—

So of course, that was when Thymos drew back, with a final gentle smack, releasing a shower of Burnish sparks in the doing. Lio had to blink them from his eyes, dazed and breathless. 

He would have thought that the Great Galo Thymos might be the sort who’d boast at this point, or needle Lio for confirmation of his prowess, but he simply stood there, arms still clasped about Lio’s hips, smiling like this was the most natural thing in the world.

At length, Lio somehow found his voice again. He swallowed thickly and barely kept his tongue from swiping over his lips. “…What would you have done if I hadn’t released you?”

And Thymos just shrugged, not seeming terribly bothered by the notion. “I’d have known you weren’t the type of person I wanted to kiss after all.” 

Lio was suddenly grateful beyond measure Thymos could not see how sorely he’d wavered in the doing. 

But he mulled over Thymos’s logic—for by extension, this meant that despite all he’d done, Lio _was_ someone he had wanted to kiss. Someone he’d deemed worthy. And even if it had just been a passing fancy, a spur-of-the-moment thing, he’d wanted it. With Lio. In that instant, Thymos had _wanted_ him. 

It had been so long since someone had wanted Lio so _equally_ , he’d forgotten what it could feel like. To be recognized—not worshipped, but _enjoyed_. To have someone say they liked your company, and wanted to share more of it as a companion.

Not that Thymos had said as such, but he _was_ the type to speak through actions rather than words. Lio thought he might start listening more.

“Right,” Thymos said, bringing his arms up to clap Lio on the shoulder—and suddenly they were back where they’d been before, and the world was spinning a bit more evenly. Lio appreciated it. “Breakfast now? I dunno about you, but I don’t like to ride on an empty stomach.”

Lio straightened. “…You still want to come with us? On the raid?” He frowned. “But—Promepolis…”

Thymos waved him off with a derisive huff. “It’ll still be there after. I told you—” He quirked a brow at Lio. “I didn’t want you thinking there was any deep motive behind it.”

And because he couldn’t help himself, Lio’s traitorous tongue asked, “…Then what motive _was_ there?”

Thymos shrugged. “‘Cause I felt like it, duh. Wasn’t that why you let me?”

It was a rather prosaic way of putting it, but Lio supposed he wasn’t wrong. He crossed his arms over his chest. “…You’ll go back after, though, won’t you?”

Thymos seemed to sense he was being tested—for he was, as ever, an idiot, but not stupid. “…Why don’t we see if any of us come back alive first, yeah? Then we’ll worry about what comes next.”

Lio was more than all right with that, and he nodded. Thymos clapped his hands, gave a little _whoop!_ of excitement, then marched for the door. He’d barely gotten three steps, though, before Lio stopped him with a sharp, “Thymos.”

“What?”

Lio gestured to the pile of fabric heaped up on the floor at his feet. “Put your _clothes_ on.”

Thymos wrinkled his nose—then gave Lio a look that was _entirely_ too sly and immediately put him on edge. “…Is that an order?”

Lio tensed. “…Does it need to be?” He had sense enough to know Thymos was playing at something but lacked the experience to know exactly _what_. Thymos had caught him off guard with that kiss—he meant to be ready for whatever came next.

Thymos tapped his chin in thought. “How about this? I’ll get suited up—no orders necessary, _Boss_ —” He then took several long, slinking strides toward Lio, backing him up until he hit the mirrored wall. “But I’m gonna need something from you first.”

Lio didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, and didn’t back down. If Thymos thought he could use whatever this strange new dynamic between them was for his own ends, he was going to _very_ quickly learn—

Thymos leaned in, knocking their foreheads together, and grinned, “Call me ‘Galo’ already!”

Lio’s brows drew together. “Call you—?” _Oh_. What an odd thing to be hung up on—but then, Thymos ( _Galo_ ) was about as odd as they came. He tipped his head to the side, until their noses nuzzled, and breathed, “ _Galo_ …”

Galo’s grin—leer, really—only widened. “There, see? Not so difficult…”

“Suppose not,” Lio allowed. “Galo…?”

“Hmm…?” Galo said, ducking down so he could cock his head at an angle that suggested he was very strongly considering kissing Lio again.

But Lio brought up a hand, braced against Galo’s chest—and gave a great, flare-infused shove that sent him pinwheeling backwards and nearly falling squarely on his ass. Lio dusted off his jacket, adjusted his jabot, and said again with a pointed finger, “Put. Your. Clothes. On.”

As he stalked out of the room, stomach rumbling, Galo called after him in sing-song, “ _Yes, Boss~_ ”


	9. Chapter 9

“And they know what to do, in the event Freeze Force or any unsavory sorts find their way up here?”

“They _know_ , Boss—between Squads 4 and 5, they’ll be able to handle themselves long enough to let the civilians flee to safety,” Meis reminded. “But it won’t be necessary, because we’re gonna be back inside of a couple of weeks.”

He couldn’t promise that—they didn’t know _anything_ about what they were about to ride into. Magnus, who had spent most of the last twenty-four hours sleeping and recovering from his ordeal, had little further information to offer concerning the layout of the facility or how many Freeze Force soldiers were guarding it or even what stretches of the vicinity patrols monitored regularly. All that was clear was that it was _not_ the sort of place you wanted to get sent to if you were Burnish. 

“They go in, but they don’t come out…” Magnus had said, shuddering and shaking his head. “It’s suicide, going in after them. They’re probably already dead!”

And probably they were, indeed. But Burnish didn’t leave their own behind. He knew this was a rash decision—that they ought to have laid low, planned for another few days at least, gathered more intel—but he’d been sitting up here, doing nothing, for months now while Foresight smeared the name of every good Burnish and waged a campaign of fear and mistrust to an end that Lio could only _guess_ at. 

He’d grown complacent, thinking this abandoned settlement might be something of a home for them, the beginnings of the city for Burnish he’d long dreamed of. And indeed it might, eventually, but they couldn’t let their guard down just yet. No, not so long as Foresight was out there, hunting them for his own demented purposes. They would rescue any survivors they found from the facility, and then?

Then they’d go back to Promepolis and put an end to this, _all_ of this. Whether Foresight liked it or not.

“ _Ow_ ,” Lio said, rubbing at his forehead and fixing Galo with a sharp glare of irritation. “What was that for?”

“You had this look in your eye. Kinda constipated. Kinda like you were about to murder someone. It wasn’t a good look—you’re gonna scare the kids.”

And indeed, the children who’d gathered with their parents and guardians to see them off were cowering, just a bit, and giving Lio worried looks. He waved back, forcing an easy smile, then huffed under his breath. “I really don’t need you undermining me like that in front of the whole camp.”

“Hey, if anything I was _over_ mining you. They don’t need to see you looking rattled.”

“That isn’t a word—and I wasn’t _rattled_. I was concentrating.” Lio threw a glance over to Gueira, who was already out on the tarmac. “Right. Jacket off. Let’s ride. Meis? Lock up.”

“Righto,” Meis said, reaching for the chain to roll down the bay door as Lio favored their send-off party with a final wave good-bye.

Galo gave a sharp _woohoo!_ and quickly peeled off his downy coat, tossing it under just as Meis finished lowering the door. He jogged out onto the tarmac, rubbing his biceps and high-stepping to keep his blood up. “F-f-f-f-fuck it’s cold. You guys are so lucky.”

“Oh yeah,” Gueira huffed with a crooked smile. “Government out for our blood, always on the run, not a moment’s peace—but hey, at least our toes aren’t chilly!”

Galo was hopping from one foot to another, breathing into his cupped hands. “Lioooo, hurry up and gimme my armor! Things are gonna start falling off soon, and it’s not my toes I’m worried about.”

“Quit whining,” Lio sighed, shifting his pack to his other shoulder and holding both hands up. “Come here, let’s get you suited up, then.”

“Want me to take off my shirt again?”

“There’s really no need—fewer layers simply means it’s easier to move. I don’t have to be _touching_ you.”

“Do you _want_ to be touching me?” Galo leered, though he had the decency to pitch his voice low enough Lio didn’t think his generals could hear. Gueira and Meis tolerated Galo well enough, even seemed grudgingly fond of him at times—but he didn’t know how they’d react to learning he’d made a pass at Lio. Or that Lio had quite appreciated it.

“I can leave you here,” Lio said, the threat undercut by the unbidden smile that curved his lips.

“Nah, you’d miss hearing my witty banter for the next two— _whoa_.” Galo promptly cut himself off as Lio began to construct the armor around him, building out the frame from his mental image. “A little warning? Isn’t it rude to… _construct_ …on someone without their consent?”

“Maybe I was worried about things that aren’t toes falling off,” Lio said, quirking a brow. “Now hold still. I want to adjust the shoulder pieces—you were slow on the draw while sparring with Gueira earlier.”

“Still _kicked his ass_ ,” Galo yelled over his shoulder, awkwardly holding his arms out for Lio to fiddle with. 

“ _Fuck you, rookie!_ ” Gueira called back, showing him a finger—and Meis, bless him, quickly distracted him with a thermos of coffee and protein bar from his pack.

“Galo. For the fiftieth time— _stop_ antagonizing him.”

“C’mon,” Galo smiled. “You know your guys; surely you can see we’re just giving each other shit to give each other shit. I did it all the time with my squad—you can’t tell me he doesn’t do it with you.” Then he frowned. “Or huh, I guess he _doesn’t_ do it with you.”

“Perceptive.”

“Does he do it with Meis?”

“He does a fair few things with Meis—though I’m not sure egging each other on is one of them.” He grabbed Galo’s armor by the curving horns of the shoulder plates, giving them a shake to force Galo to meet his eye. “Just be civil, won’t you? Give me one less thing to worry about.”

“You’re gonna worry regardless,” Galo sighed. “But I’ll be on my _very_ best behavior.”

Lio quite doubted that, but he’d take what he could get for now. Putting the finishing touches on the armor, he took a step back and had Galo perform a few motions, just to be sure everything moved properly with no chinks or points of exposure. Galo, for his part, seemed pleased as punch with the job Lio had done, heaping praises at his feet and making Lio’s cheeks and ears tingle again.

With Galo’s armor finalized, though, it was time they set off, and in a burst of brilliant flame that had Galo hissing as he was forced to look away, Lio donned his own armor, with Gueira and Meis erupting in concert alongside him. Detroit, Miami, and Dallas flowed into existence, their engines humming eagerly. Constructs were funny things—there was no fuel whatsoever powering the cycles, no engine to speak of even, and yet when Lio slid into the high-back seat that was molded perfectly to his body shape, armor or no, he could feel the bike thrumming, as if with a life of its own.

Galo clapped his hands together and rubbed eagerly. “Okay! Hit me!”

Lio let his helmet melt away, frowning at Galo. “Hit you? With what?”

“My bike! ‘Scuse me, my _Burnish cycle_ —that’s what you call ‘em, right? Do I get to name mine? Would it just be ‘Promepolis’? That’s kinda boring, not gonna lie. How about _Inferno_? Or _Rescue_? Or _ooh_ ‘Matoi’! Or wait—”

“‘Bagel bites’,” Gueira offered, most unhelpfully, revving Miami with a quirk of his brows.

“You aren’t getting a cycle,” Lio cut in, before Galo could think of a come-back. 

“Not getting…” Galo looked like he’d just been struck. “But—why _not_? You gave me the armor—!”

“And that’s going to take enough of my focus and energy as it is. I’m not sacrificing even _more_ just so you can take a joy ride.”

Galo’s mouth gaped in protest, but he quickly rallied. “Then—then let me drive Detroit! _Just_ for a few hundred miles, c’mon!”

“ _Ab_ solutely not,” Lio huffed derisively. Was he out of his mind?

“What, so now you don’t trust me again? Barely twelve hours and this?”

“It’s not about trust. I told you, Detroit would sooner drive itself off a cliff than allow anyone other than me to drive it.” He turned to Meis. “Have you ever allowed Gueira onto Dallas?”

Meis gave the handlebars a gentle caress, smiling sharply. “Oh he learned a long time ago not to touch what’s not his.” Gueira had his head hung, and Lio sensed there was a rather fascinating story there—and one he absolutely did not want to hear. They had boundaries, after all.

“So you see?” Lio said. “Not an issue of trust at all.”

“Uh huh. So I don’t get my own bike _and_ I don’t get to drive yours? This trip just keeps getting better and better.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay,” Lio said, jerking a thumb back at the compound. “I’m sure Coreolus would appreciate an extra pair of eyes available for a watch.”

“I’m _going_ ,” Galo said, though it sounded a bit like he was reminding himself, rather than Lio. “…Even if I have to ride double the whole way.”

“Oh,” Lio said, trying not to smile too widely. “You won’t fit on the seat now—not with the both of us in full armor.” It would have been a tight—and uncomfortable—squeeze with even _one_ of them in armor. With both, it just wasn’t feasible, not without turning Detroit into a tandem bike—and he wasn’t about to do that.

There were other ways to ride with a passenger, besides.

Lio closed his eyes, channeling his focus through Detroit’s handlebars and down into its belly—until, like a great tumorous growth, a mass bubbled up from the bike’s right side, expanding into a sizeable sidecar that could, Lio was confident, comfortably fit precisely one Crisis Negotiator bundled up inside a suit of Burnish armor.

Galo groaned long and loud as soon as he saw the sidecar. “I’ve gotta ride in _that_ thing? It won’t even fit me!”

“It’s surprisingly roomy, trust me.” Lio patted the car in invitation. “Now stop dawdling and get in, or we’re leaving without you.”

“Fine,” Galo grumbled peevishly, lumbering over and hauling himself awkwardly into the side car. “But I’m gonna complain the whole way.”

“Mm,” Lio said, snapping his fingers. “You do that.”

On cue, the full-face mask popped into place, locking Galo firmly in, and after releasing a short string of squawking protests, he quickly gave up and slumped, quiet, back in his seat. Lio patted him politely on the head, and then they were off. 

Snowdrifts and ice-slick roads were no trouble for their Burnish cycles to manage, the heat of their bikes ensuring the surfaces were smooth and navigable, so Lio pushed them as hard as he dared. They ate in their seats, letting the bikes drive themselves on long, lonely stretches, and when they were forced to stop to gather their strength and rest, they carved out ice caves and laid their bedrolls down together. 

Galo hadn’t seemed keen on the setup at first, but he’d quickly warmed to the idea—no pun intended—when he realized that sleeping in the midst of three Burnish meant three times the heat, such that he snoozed like a baby until Lio shook him awake so they could get back on the road. 

He never stopped trying to convince Lio to let him ride with them in a marginally less mortifying manner, but on this Lio was firm. 

“It’s barely a step up from you hauling me behind Detroit in a hunk of ice!” Galo groaned one evening as they were laying out their bedrolls.

“There’s no one around for you to impress, fireboy,” Gueira huffed, and for once, Lio didn’t stop him. The days spent charging through the snow-covered countryside were mind-numbingly boring, and this was the closest thing they had to entertainment right now.

Galo, shockingly, ignored the goading jibe, turning to plead with Lio. “I’m _begging_ you here: give me some dignity.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to construct that,” Lio said, smiling at the way Galo seemed to fold in on himself, and he reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “Fine, how about this?”

Galo’s head snapped up. “Yeah?”

“…If we survive the raid, I’ll try and construct you your own Burnish cycle on the way back.”

“Seriously?!” Galo looked like he sorely wanted to leap to his feet and dance and was only holding back because it was too cramped in their ice cave to do so. 

“I figure if we’re lucky enough to have made it out with our lives, I won’t need to worry about conserving my energy any further.” He shrugged. “So why not?”

“Thank god,” Meis sighed, crawling onto his pallet. “We might get some peace and quiet then.”

“‘Course that’s assuming we survive,” Gueira snickered grimly, crawling in next to him. “I wouldn’t start fantasizing in too much detail, fireboy.”

“Ignore them,” Galo said to Lio, as if he were the one in need of reassurance. “We’re gonna get your people back, and then I’m gonna get a kickass ride to match my kickass armor you made me.” He laid down, patting the space beside him. “Then maybe _I_ can take _you_ for a ride for once.”

Gueira gave a rude, snorting guffaw that he struggled to disguise with a cough, burying his face against Meis’s back, and Lio decided he didn’t care for entertainment after all.

The weather favored them as they raced eastward, stopping only when necessary, and in just over a week, they had reached the coordinates delivered by Magnus—each step, from then on out, would be risking capture or worse, and Lio felt the weight of leadership leaning heavier on his shoulders with every passing mile.

When they nearly ran headlong into a Freeze Force patrol, Lio forced them to dispense with the bikes—something Galo had absolutely no objection to—and continue on foot. They waited in a trench just off the side of the road for the patrol to disappear over the next hill, then set off, following the tracks left behind back to the black-site facility. Lio silently prayed the patrol had been on something as innocuous as a supply run and not part of a raid on the Burnish settlement located far to the west but distressingly ill-protected at the moment.

There was nothing they could do, though, but press on, rescue their fellows, and return as quickly as possible. What if there were more Burnish being held in the facility than simply Squad 2? Lio wouldn’t leave them, he absolutely would _not_. But adding more civilians to their party, Burnish who might barely comprehend their power let alone be comfortable using it with any degree of skill, would mean a slow return trip if they couldn’t find a means to transport them. Riding double on Burnish bikes wouldn’t cut it.

When they finally found the facility, Meis spotting it from a ridge, the situation seemed even more dire than they’d imagined. Lio counted no fewer than four patrols passing by at the site’s border fence over the course of an hour, a four-fold increase over the security Magnus had reported. Too many, Lio concluded, for them to sneak in undetected.

The site was a huge monolith, sat square in the middle of what looked to be a snowfield but, Magnus had assured them, was actually an iced-over lake—they would not be charging in on Burnish cycles, that was for certain. 

“They sure aren’t making this easy on us, are they?” Gueira muttered under his breath.

“It’s almost like they don’t _want_ to part with all the Burnish they’ve kidnapped…” Meis added with a grim smile. 

“I don’t understand why we’re bothering with stealth at all,” Galo said, jabbing Lio in the shoulder with one heavily armored fist until he turned over the binoculars. “Let me have a turn.”

“You can’t even bring them to your eyes, idiot.”

“Then take off this mask so I can get a look too!”

“That defeats the purpose of you wearing a mask to begin with!”

“See?” Gueira said in a soft aside to Meis that Lio did not miss. He jerked a thumb in Galo’s direction. “It’s worse now…”

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Galo continued, pressing the eye caps of the binoculars to his face mask—to no evident avail. “Between the three of you and my Matoi armor, I think we could do a hell of a lot of damage if we struck in the right places.”

“That might have been true when Squad 2 first found this place—but now they’re clearly on alert. They’ll be expecting us—and more to the point, they’ve got at least five hostages in there—”

“Assuming they haven’t been killed already,” Meis reminded.

“—and this is _Freeze Force_. Even if we disagree on Foresight, you must know as well as we do what monsters Vulcan and his men can be.”

Galo’s bulky shoulders slumped. “…Yeah, they’re fucking filth. On permanent power trips, all of ‘em.” He tried to scratch his head, then huffed in irritation when he realized this wasn’t possible suited up as he was. “But—what are the odds Vulcan’s even here? Or any of his first-stringers? They’re on civic duty most of the time—he _hated_ having to go out into the Waste for training maneuvers; no way he’d trek all the way up here if he had any choice!”

“It’s not the force size or armaments I’m worried about…” Lio sighed, for Galo was still thinking like a hot-headed firefighter whose Chief would clean up after him, letting him run wild as he pleased so long as he got results. Lio ran a much tighter ship, and Galo was going to learn to bow his head, one way or another. He fixed Galo with a hard look, impressing upon him the gravity of the situation. “There might still be Burnish alive in there—I won’t risk them getting caught in the crossfire.” He turned back to survey the facility, willing his heart to calm and his mind to steady. “I intend to rescue _everyone_ left alive in there—without loss of life on either side, if we can at all help it.”

“Burnish don’t kill,” Gueira repeated the mantra with a crooked grin, and Meis nodded firmly. Lio felt a great swell of affection for them—that was soundly trampled upon by Galo.

“Well, that’s a real nice sentiment, Boss… But I don’t think Freeze Force is gonna be willing to play by those rules.”

And indeed, they probably would not—but Lio would not compromise his own morals simply because his opponents lacked any themselves. It only made him want to stick to his guns all the harder. Honor, pride, whatever you wanted to call it. If he died for it, he’d at least die being the kind of person Galo would want to pledge himself to. The kind of person who deserved that loyalty.

Lio snatched the binoculars back from Galo and tracked one of the patrols puttering around the perimeter. In fifteen minutes, another truck-full would pass, this they’d confirmed over the past several hours on watch. “…There are four Freeze Force soldiers to a unit,” he noted.

Meis frowned, looked to Gueira, then nodded. “…Yeah. You’re not thinking of…?”

“It’s our only way inside. The only way we can take that won’t get anyone killed.”

“Not outright…” Meis muttered, rubbing his chin, and Galo waved for their attention, as if they might have forgotten him. 

“Not thinking of what? What’s not gonna get us killed outright?”

Lio nodded down to the patrol unit. “Ambush one of the units, knock out the guards, copy their armor, and assume their identities to sneak inside.”

“Ambush— _what_?”

Lio let him fret, turning back to Gueira and Meis. “I’ll shoot out one of the tires—a dart, so they think they’ve only run over a sharp rock. You two huddle and let a bit of snow pile up, play at being boulders or trees—we’ll pounce together once they’ve come out to inspect the damage.”

Gueira jerked a thumb at Galo, who was still reeling and muttering under his breath, “I…I just got this armor though… And now I have to…”

“What about _that_ one?” Gueira asked.

Lio sighed, snapping his fingers in Galo’s face to draw his attention. “Stay out of sight—and don’t come out until we’ve said it’s safe.”

Galo batted his hand away. “Said it’s—? Wait, I’m ready to knock some heads too! There’s four of them, right? One for each of us!”

“I told you if you wanted to come along on this raid, you had to be prepared to follow my lead—and now I’m telling you to stay back. There’ll be no fighting at all unless absolutely necessary, and no harm will come from any of _us_ three having our faces shown should our armor fail. _You_ , though, have an identity that still needs protecting. Foresight thinks you’re dead, and so long as he continues to believe that, your friends and loved ones will be safe.”

And though Lio was certain Galo still didn’t entirely believe Foresight had orchestrated his murder, he still slumped in place, ducking a nod. Even through the Cheshire grin of his mask, his irritation and despondence were visible.

They called back their armor and slipped down from the ridge atop which they’d been keeping watch, their flames carefully banked so they didn’t sink up to their necks in the fresh powder through which they trudged. Once they approached the faint tracks left behind by the previous patrol run, Lio held back with Galo to take aim while Gueira and Meis hid themselves in plain sight. 

On cue, the next patrol truck came rumbling along some ten minutes later, and under cover of darkness with only the moon to light his shot, Lio let a slender arrow fly, piercing the front-left tire with a bright _pop_ that echoed loudly enough to startle a flock of birds in a nearby tree to flight. 

The truck continued on for another few dozen feet before rolling to a screeching stop.

“Hang back until—”

“Until you three have had all your fun,” Galo repeated gloomily, plopping down in the snow at Lio’s feet. 

“Hm. So you _can_ follow orders.”

Galo showed him a finger, and as there was no one else around to witness the insubordination, Lio let it stand, shifting his focus to watch carefully for Meis and Gueira to make their move. 

The Freeze Force agents poured from their truck, groaning at the state of the tire, and seemed to be deciding whether they ought to try and repair the flat themselves or if it was a better idea to radio for aid. 

Before any of them could think to signal on the radio, Meis had slipped from the dark like a long licorice whip, dispatching the two nearest with simultaneous throat chops. The remaining two barely had time to turn around before Gueira brought down his massive armored fists on their heads, and they dropped like sacks of flour. 

They had no time to waste—another unit would be on their position inside of ten minutes, so Lio slipped down from his perch atop a hillcrest, signaling for Galo to stay put, and helped his generals bind the Freeze Force soldiers and dismantle their communications. Gueira then chucked them handily into a deep thicket where they were sure to remain hidden unless someone was actually _looking_ for them, and shed his armor with a satisfied grin.

“Best role of my life. I deserve one of those fancy awards they used to give out.”

“Indeed,” Meis said dryly. “Your ‘small mountain’ absolutely moved me to tears.”

Lio motioned for Galo to join them, letting his armor return to flame and dissipate, and down the ghastly black monstrosity of ‘Matoi’ armor came galumphing. “Right—let’s get this sorted out quickly. I don’t want to still be sitting here when the follow-up patrol comes along. Gueira—can you drive this thing?”

“She won’t like handling these snowy roads with a flat, but I can get her back to where she came from, yeah.”

“So I don’t get to drive _this one_ either?” Galo whined—then yelped brightly as Lio swept his armor away. “D-D-D-Dammit, warn a guy before you do that!”

“No time—new constructs, everyone. As close to the official make and colors as you can manage them.”

“Wait, you’re gonna _construct_ Freeze Force armor?” Galo jerked a trembling thumb back at the thicket. “Why not just use theirs?”

“One, they’ll die of exposure if we take their armor—and two…” Lio gestured to himself. “Do I _look_ like that armor would fit me?”

Galo frowned. “I guess not, but—”

“No more buts.” He held his hands up, drawing close to press against Galo’s flesh—which trembled beneath his touch before relaxing. “Better?”

“Lots…” Galo sighed, then shivered again. “Couldn’t this place have been on a beach somewhere?”

“It’s technically lake-side property, if you think about it.”

“Not exactly the season for sunbathing, though…”

“Alas…” Lio quirked a half-smile. “Some other time.”

And before Galo could distract him any further, Lio closed his eyes and called up the image of Vulcan Haestus in his mind—not exactly a memory he treasured, but it would serve his purposes just for now. He let the construct take shape beneath his hands, building the new armor around Galo much as he had the old. No more black—just white, far too much white for the jack-booted thuggery Freeze Force was renowned for. He could feel the flames revolting, loath to take the shapes and shades he wished them to, but he pressed on—to have any chance of saving the Burnish trapped inside this cold, dark tomb, they would need this armor and whatever protection it could give them. They might be marked as intruders the moment they stepped from the truck, but they had to take the chance. Their _only_ chance.

At last, the flames complied, letting Lio bend and shape them as he would, and in short order, Galo was safely encased once more in sturdy armor. Lio suppressed a shudder at the sight and waved him away. “Take a few steps, get your bearings.” He then turned back to Gueira and Meis, who were having varying degrees of success in building their own armor.

“It’s _unnatural_ ,” Gueira whined, catching sight of his reflection in one of the truck’s windows. “I’m scrawny now!”

“You’ve always been scrawny,” Meis said, nimbly dodging a swipe from Gueira’s fist. 

“Stop flirting and make sure your armor matches,” Lio sighed. “We won’t make it past the front gate without triggering alarms like this.”

It was another agonizing five minutes before Lio was satisfied with the others’ armor, and with mere moments to spare and the glow of headlights visible in the distance, he quickly armored up himself, patterning the design as closely as he could to Galo’s, and ordered them all to pile in.

Even through the opaque face masks, Lio could feel Galo eyeing him as they crammed into the back seat. “What?”

“…You’re…taller.”

“I’m always taller in armor.”

“Yeah. It’s weird.”

It _was_ weird, though Lio had given up trying to understand it. The closest he’d come to anything resembling a proper conclusion was the understanding that the flames responded to their will. The Burnish might respect Lio, regardless of his outward appearance, but Freeze Force wouldn’t. Foresight wouldn’t. So his armor took on a form that garnered respect from all quarters. It made Gueira look the size of a house. It made Meis…well, some people’s deepest, darkest desires weren’t worth dwelling upon.

Gueira handled the truck impressively—he’d always had a way with anything motorized—and despite the sluggish pace, they eventually crawled back to the front gate, where they were waved through by the guard house and crossed the long, thin bridge that led to the monolithic building anchored at the center of the lake. Another guard wielding glowing control batons directed them into a hangar, where a greasy mechanic sort surveyed the damaged tire with a deeply creased frown.

“What the hell happened here?” he asked Gueira. He didn’t look like Freeze Force, so they could probably hope he wouldn’t realize the voice emanating from Gueira’s suit did not belong to the soldier who should have been driving the rig, but it was still a risk.

Gueira kept his responses clipped and short, which was for the best. “Hit a rock on the last pass.”

The mechanic gave him a long look, glancing back and forth between Gueira and the oversized winter tires the truck was outfitted with. The rubber had to be five inches thick at least, and the puncture would not hold up under close inspection. “…Hell of a rock.”

“Just get a new set of tires on,” Gueira snapped, then jerked his head for Lio and the others to follow him, making for a heavy door over which hung a sign reading “MESS HALL / TROOP QUARTERS / HOLDING”.

Lio supposed the man Gueira was imitating had the authority to speak to the poor mechanic in that tone, for they received no further attention, the rest of the occupants of the hangar keeping well clear as they made their way into the bowels of the building. 

The internals of the facility were an absolute maze, but they marched on as if they knew exactly where they were going. The hallway from the hanger eventually branched off, and though a week of nothing but protein bars and energy drinks had Lio desperate to visit the canteen, they veered off toward the ‘Holding’ wing. 

While the hangar and adjacent areas of the building had been well-lit and populated with not just Freeze Force agents but general staff as well, the ‘Holding’ wing was cold and quiet as a tomb, the walls lined with flickering fluorescent lights that gave Lio a piercing headache. No one passed them in these snaking corridors—which meant if they _did_ run into anyone now, they’d be marked as being out of bounds in an instant. No way were standard foot-soldiers meant to be in this area.

There were no more helpful signs to direct them where they needed to go now—but that was all right. Who needed signs, when you could navigate by _screams_?

Because the walls _echoed_ with them, the cold, rusted metal bearing weeping and wailing from god-knew-where, up and down the long corridors to fall on the deaf ears of the guards who stalked these halls. There was no doubt in Lio’s mind that these were the screams of Burnish being tortured in some demented fashion—yet he had to block them out, had to be collected, had to be _cold_. And that was a ludicrous thing to ask of a Burnish, but it was a crucial element in any leader.

Lio jerked to a stop as they passed a door—thick, heavy steel with a number pad and card slot, it was set into the wall and had a worn handle that suggested frequent use. The sign above the number pad read “Testing Floor A”. He reached out, unable to help himself, to grab the handle—

“Hey,” Galo said in gentle but firm warning, hand snapping out to grab Lio by the wrist and hold fast. He shook his head. “Not in there.”

“Boss…” Meis hissed, inclining his head further on down the corridor. “Can’t dawdle.”

No, no they couldn’t. Because the screams weren’t going away—they were only building in intensity, and how could any decent human being _stand_ working in this facility?

Galo and Meis flanked him on either side, with Gueira scouting ahead, and Lio wanted to laugh. Lio Fotia, the leader of Mad Burnish, having to be babysat by his seconds lest he run off and ruin the mission.

To think there would come a day when the Great Galo Thymos, renowned hothead and idiot (but not stupid), would have to play his conscience. Perhaps they weren’t as different as Lio might have liked to think. 

He let himself be led quietly away—what was behind that door was none of their concern just now. They weren’t here to find out what was going on at these black-sites. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that they find their people and then put as many miles between themselves and this facility as possible. 

He would hear the truth of the matter when he pried it from Foresight’s own lips, after all; no need to risk their own safety and the well-being of those they were meant to be rescuing over something he would learn of in due course. 

They had a near-miss with a laboratory type decked out in a long white coat under a heavy padded jacket and face covered in a knitted scarf, saved only by the fact that, with their face buried in a folder of readouts, the person (Man? Woman? Impossible to tell under so many layers) hadn’t noticed the four of them pressed into a small nook. Once the walking snow-suit had disappeared around a corner, they continued on until they came to another three-way branch. It was an easy choice, though, to veer down the hallway lit only by a series of hanging lamps that illuminated a dozen or more heavy doors fitted with tiny slitted windows.

Lio peered through the little window on the first door he came to, and in the shadows cast by the wan light of the lamps, he could see no fewer than a dozen people of all shapes and sizes, wearing nothing but thin shifts with their hands encased in freezing rings, huddled together at the rear of what could only charitably be called a cell. One of the prisoners—a young man, pale with dark circles under his eyes and a bandage around his throat and entire left arm—caught sight of him and hissed a warning to the others. Every eye snapped Lio’s way, and as one, they scurried toward the rear of the cell.

“Get rid of the armor,” Galo said, and Lio turned to him with a frown. “…They’re scared of you. They think you’re Freeze Force.”

And of course they did. He quickly dissolved the armor back into flame—and found, mortifyingly, he now had to stand on his very tip-toes to see through the grate. Gueira gave him a discreet boost, and this time, he was met with awed whispers when he peered inside. 

“Lio…? It’s _Lio!_ ”

“Who?”

“ _Boss!!_ ”

Three faces he recognized rushed to the window, but the others held back, watching warily from the shadows. They were all of them on their very last legs—some very old, some distressingly young, and almost none of them familiar to him but all of them _his people_. His responsibility. 

Meis doffed his helmet and touched Lio’s shoulder nodding to a shrouded figure lying prone on the ground in the back corner. Several of the other Burnish were hovered around the body, heads bowed, and Lio felt a sudden urge surge through him—instinct. “I need to get inside here. Now.”

“Already on it,” Gueira said, fingers dancing over the number pad as his Burnish flame sparked and sizzled. “Gotta be delicate with these things if we wanna keep a low profile.”

“You can be delicate?” Galo snorted.

“Very,” Meis said, arching a brow, and Galo looked endearingly perplexed. 

The locking mechanism hissed—and the door came unlatched, sliding up to grant entry. Lio darted inside, leaving the others to stand watch, and the Burnish prisoners instantly parted to let him through, either wary of his presence or respectful of his intentions. He sank to his knees beside the bandaged figure, gently taking one heavily wrapped hand in his own. _So light_ , like there was nothing beneath the bandages but breath and flame and fleeting thought.

“…Thyma,” Meis said from over his shoulder, a tight frown in his voice. “She…Gueira and I, we rescued her—just before you came along. She was only with us a couple of hours, though. Freeze Force tracked us and managed to capture the bulk of our gang. Would’ve gotten me and Gueira too, probably, if you hadn’t shown up when you did.” He clenched a fist at his side. “She’d only just awakened. Was still scared shitless of what she could do. Terrified she might hurt other people.”

From the corner of his eye, Lio saw Galo turn away, rubbing absently at the arm riddled with burn scars, and thought _oh_. 

The hand in his grasp gave a weak squeeze, and Thyma’s mouth—one of the only bits of her left exposed—began working feebly, opening and closing as she struggled to speak. 

“Don’t,” Lio urged, clutching her hand to his heart and holding it close as he silently willed his heartbeat to strengthen her own. “Just rest—save your strength. You’ll need it—we’re getting you out of here.” He looked around, meeting the eye of all he could see. “All of you. And any other Burnish trapped here.”

Neither Gueira nor Meis nor—shockingly—even Galo protested this plan. Perhaps they’d expected it. Perhaps they realized there was no arguing with Lio when it came to ending injustice.

But Thyma’s arm went limp, and everything in her seemed to just _wilt_. She was fading, fading _fast_ , too quickly for them to mount any sort of rescue attempt with her. She’d be dead and gone before they could get her across the threshold of the cell, and he _refused_ to let this poor woman, who’d never asked for any of this, to just die in a dank, dark _prison_ in the cold northern reaches of the Waste. 

She was a fire—that was all. Just a pitiful flame, sputtering weakly and in desperate want of fuel. Whatever she’d been through had thoroughly sapped her, and she only needed some careful attention, a boost, to put her back to rights again. The flames that coursed through her veins were the very same ones that smoldered within Lio, and without thinking, pure instinct driving him, he shifted forward to lean over her, tilted her head back, and pressed his lips to hers.

He exhaled slowly, feeding her flame with his own. He saw, in his mind’s eye, her Burnish spark driven low and calm, no longer the joyously dancing thing that Lio could feel in his belly. He coaxed it, he sang to it, he joined his flame with hers, and the hand pressed to his chest clenched—tight!—in the fabric over his heart.

He drew back, relief tugging his lips into a smile—

Only to see a brief spark flash in Thyma’s hooded eyes, before it abruptly faded into nothing. Snuffed out.

Lio choked back a gasp, squeezing Thyma’s hand even harder, but already her flame had been banked. He continued to hold her hand as her flesh turned to ash, her body to so much dust that it collapsed in on itself, filtering down through the dirty grates in the floor to the sewage system.

It was silent as the grave inside the cell—some Burnish had turned away, unable to bear the sight, while others stared at the empty bandages with barely restrained fury and not an ounce of shock. As if this was something they’d witnessed time and time again and were inured to now. How many had already perished like this, drained of all their life until they were reduced to mere ash? It was a fate Lio had contented himself with for years, as all Burnish had to, but it was one that was meant to have been _earned_. After a long, full life. Not forced upon them. Not like this.

He arranged the bandages as best he could, taking all the care he could spare, and then eased back to his feet. He felt lightheaded, though it was impossible to guess the reason—exhaustion, the change in position, or perhaps just pure, unbridled fury.

“Boss…” Meis said in soft warning, and Lio knew—they needed to leave. Every moment they dawdled was another these people would never get back, and he would not see them forced to spend a single second longer in this hell hole. 

He swallowed, squaring his shoulders and snapping on the mantle of leadership that would light a fire under these poor unfortunates. It would be a chore and a half getting out of this place, and there could be no dragging of feet. “Masks back on. We need to—”

An alarm blasted somewhere, blaring loudly enough to be heard throughout the building. The Burnish cowered in fear—but Lio knew they couldn’t spare another moment. Evidently the patrol unit they’d knocked out had finally been found, which meant they had precious little time to gather up the rest of the prisoners and make their way to safety. 

“I think we can kiss a ‘quiet and stealthy retreat’ goodbye, eh Boss?” Gueira said, already shedding his Freeze Force disguise and letting tendrils of black fire lick their way up to encase him in his usual Burnish armor. He flexed his arms with a relieved sigh. “Now that’s more like it!”

“Meis, help Gueira destroy these freeze rings. Galo—come with me, we’re checking the remaining cells.”

Galo didn’t need to be told twice, quickly and quietly following Lio’s orders for once. He hadn’t spoken a word, in fact, since they’d found the prisoners, and Lio wondered what was going through his mind. Was he perhaps starting to see the real human toll of Foresight’s scheming? In a dark way, Lio was thrilled at the prospect—in a not-so-dark way, he was missing Galo’s effervescently positive outlook.

“Hold still,” he said, before they started on the next cell, and held up both hands. “No sense in you running around scaring the children like this. I’ll give you back your ridiculous Matoi armor.”

“…Oh—yeah,” Galo said, then stood firmly at attention, as if presenting himself for inspection.

Lio frowned. “…Is it too much for you?”

Galo blinked at him. “What?” He sobered, then shook his head. “Just—I’ve never seen…”

He’d never seen anyone die before. That sounded ridiculous on its face—Burning Rescue were effective, from what Lio had heard, but the mortality rate among the ranks was staggering. Still, Galo was a rookie, whether he wanted to admit it or not, so perhaps it was merely a matter of timing. The sort of bravado and recklessness with his own life that Galo displayed spoke of a man who had not yet been faced with his own mortality. Lio had initially thought it naïvete—and he supposed in a way it was. 

But he needed the bombastic, insufferable Great Galo Thymos right now, so this reckoning with his humanity would have to wait.

“…Then take a breath and sort yourself out. We have rather a lot more who need us to be on our game right now. If you want to have a breakdown, then do it once we’ve made it back to camp.”

“I’m not gonna have a _breakdown_.”

“Damn right you’re not. Until we get back to camp.” He placed his hands on Galo’s chest, palms spread flat. “Now hold still—we don’t have much time.”

His third time constructing Galo’s Matoi armor came much more smoothly than previous attempts had, and Lio almost hated that he was getting _used_ to crafting the gaudy suit. Galo, though, at least seemed more comfortable, more himself once he was back in his own armor, so Lio decided to call it even.

The other two members of Squad 2 were in the next cell over, and they helped rally the remaining prisoners, working with Gueira and Meis and Lio to free the Burnish from their freeze rings. Once everyone was mobile, they made their move—a difficult matter with those too injured to do more than hobble without fainting. But they had no other choice. Galo scooped up three children at once, holding one in each arm with another sitting on one of his burly armored shoulders, and between Lio, his generals, and what remained of Squad 2, they guided the confused, weakened prisoners back through the maze. 

“We got a plan, Boss?” Meis asked, sticking to Lio like a shadow while Gueira brought up the rear. “Or we just gonna try and construct Freeze Force armor for all of them and hope for the best?”

“We’re going to—”

Get shot, that was what they were going to do, as they rounded a corner and ran smack into a squadron of Freeze Force soldiers double-timing it their way. But a handful of startled Freeze Force against the best Mad Burnish had to offer—and Galo—wasn’t much of a fight, and Lio and Meis dispatched them with little fanfare. They made their way through the halls, trying to backtrack to the garage through which they’d first arrived and making easy work of any forces they stumbled across in the doing. The narrow hallways meant they couldn’t easily be cornered, and it was simple enough to just throw up a wall of solid flame to keep at bay anyone looking to challenge them.

This worked, shockingly enough, until they erupted from the bowels of the facility back into the more populated areas, and suddenly the halls were wide enough to drive a _truck_ through. Which was precisely what happened when they turned one corner and found themselves facing down a dozen well-armed Freeze Force soldiers backed by a massive truck outfitted with Freeze Cannons just above either headlight.

This wasn’t a winnable battle, not without taking casualties—and these Burnish had already been through enough. The rage and frustration and raw fury bubbled up within Lio, blood boiling, and he snarled at Galo, “ _Get the fuck back!_ ” before unleashing everything he had on the nearest wall—searing a hole straight through several layers of steel and concrete and blasting their way to freedom. Gueira and Meis dove forward, putting themselves between the Freeze Force soldiers and the fleeing Burnish, and threw up a wall that they held with sheer force of will while the others made their escape. 

They rushed out into the frigid night, and Lio thanked whatever gods were listening that these were Burnish and therefore unlikely to succumb to the elements. The healthy ones, at least; they would need to support the injured among them as best they could, but with proper nourishment and free air to breathe, they would hopefully survive. 

“Okay, well, we made it out,” Galo huffed, still absolutely covered in children. “You reckon Detroit has room for another three dozen side-cars?”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of a trailer…” Without boasting, Lio was one of the few among them with skill enough to coax his flames into taking shapes beyond their Burnish cycles and armor. Such a feat, on top of maintaining Galo’s Burnish armor, would tax him dangerously, and Detroit would have a devil of a time hauling such a load the hundreds of miles back to the settlement—but they had no other choice. They hadn’t been expecting _so many_ —and Lio refused to leave even _one_ of them behind. There would be no more Thymas, not if Lio could help it.

“A whole-ass Burnish trailer? Running over a frozen lake? You want them all to drown?”

“We can’t _drown_. And it’s only a matter of getting up enough speed.” Speed that would, in all likelihood, be impossible to attain with such a huge construct, but they would deal with that problem later.

“All right,” Galo said, easing the children to the ground and throwing a dark look at the still-smoking crater in the wall through which they’d fled. Shadows were looming through the dust and debris, and any moment now, Freeze Fire would start blasting out at them, indiscriminate. “You work on that, then. The rest of us’ll hold them off, buy you as much time as you need.”

Before Lio could protest, Galo was already rounding up the other Mad Burnish with bellowed orders, and where had _this_ come from? Lio didn’t know, and he couldn’t spare the time to marvel at it—it was enough he was _here_ , being the support Lio had trusted him to be. That ‘Firefighter’s Oath’ was nothing to sniff at, it seemed.

Lio closed his eyes, forcing himself to block out the frightened gasps and screams of the Burnish huddled near him as he formed the construct in his mind. Large—larger than the three cells they’d pulled these prisoners from. Wheels, walls, protection from the elements. It only needed to be sturdy enough to get them a safe distance away—then they could sort out more comfortable means of transportation. They’d be herded in like cattle, but there was no helping it. 

“Think I can get a shield?” Galo clamored, though Lio couldn’t tell if the request was directed at him, or at the others. “I’ve seen what Freeze Fire does to your armor, and I’d rather keep mine on!” Lio grit his teeth and, against his every instinct, ignored him—he couldn’t spare the concentration for yet another construct. He would take a bullet in the back before he left these people unprotected. It would hurt like _shit_ , but it wouldn’t kill him.

“Gotta take care of your pets if you insist on bringing ‘em home, Boss!” Gueira whooped, throwing up a heavy line of Burnish shielding just as Freeze Fire began to fly from the hole in the wall. It fizzled, impotent, against Gueira’s shield—a temporary measure, but a very much appreciated one. 

Galo was a whirlwind of energy, either knocking heads in or roundhouse kicking them to the ground or both, and Meis was doing his usual flawless work, striking like a cobra before retreating quickly behind Gueira’s shields and nimbly dodging the Freeze Fire directed his way; even the Mad Burnish from Squad 2, exhausted and wrung out, were holding their own. Lio wished he could spare the focus to be proud of them—as it was, he only dug in and continued to craft the construct. If he could get everyone loaded, protected behind the walls of his construct, he might be able to convince Detroit to listen to a new rider and send Galo on ahead while he and the rest of Mad Burnish stayed back to provide cover. It would strain him, perhaps to breaking, but—

A heli-truck came slamming through Gueira’s shields, reducing them to dust, and suddenly there was _no time_. Lio’s construct, only half-formed and little more than an open-top wagon, shattered along with his focus, exposing the cowering Burnish to the onslaught as Freeze Force charged forward in numbers greater than their own. 

Above the din of shouts and screams, Galo called for another shield. “Gueira! I’m getting my ass kicked here!”

“ _What else is new?_ ” came the snarled response, and up went a new shield, groaning as it was pelted with Freeze Fire. 

But rather than hunker down behind the safety of the wall, Galo took a breath, marched out, and with both hands stretched out before him, drew a long, wicked black staff from _nothing_.

No, not from nothing: it was constructed from Lio’s own Burnish flames. The armor was bowing to Galo’s will as if it were Lio’s own, and _fuck_. Lio hadn’t even known it could _do_ that. From the way Gueira and Meis were just staring, dumbstruck, they hadn’t either. 

The spell was broken, though, when Galo charged out, waving around his gaudy staff construct like a longsword as he charged the heli-truck. Gueira gave a barking laugh, then threw up another shield before pelting off after Galo to do as much damage to the new artillery as they could while Meis laid down cover for them, spitting Burnish flares at any Freeze Force soldier who drew within striking distance. 

They weren’t giving up—might never give up, until they had the choice taken from them—so Lio had no place giving up either. He motioned for the Burnish to huddle together again and closed his eyes, drilling his focus down…

But he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t, not beyond a new sound: an odd _whirring_ —an irritating buzzing in his mind that nagged and niggled, distracting him dangerously. He shook his head, scrubbed at his face, and slapped his cheeks—it was just exhaustion, that was all. He was stretched too thin, but he could rest to his heart’s content once this ordeal was behind them. He only needed to focus, just the once more. Just one _last_ construct—

No. No, the buzzing, it wasn’t in his head. It was _real._ He whirled around, horror washing over his face as a flock of drones came zipping out of the broken shell of the compound in a tight formation. Meis released a shot at the drones, but it flew wide—and then as one, the drones turned and aimed a beam of cool blue light just at Meis’s chest.

The beam screamed to life with a hideous wail, and a knot of energy shot out, piercing Meis straight through the shoulder. 

Lio watched as Meis’s armor shattered from his body in a shower of black glass, and he crumpled in a slow, silent descent, legs buckling beneath him.

“ _Meis_!” Gueira shrieked, a sorrowful, choked wail, and his shields fell again as Gueira abandoned his assault on the heli-truck to catch Meis before he could hit the dirty, slush-covered ground. Meis writhed in his embrace, coughing and wheezing, and Lio could make out vine-like tendrils of ice snaking out from the clean, sharp wound. There was no blood—and that in itself was terrifying. 

The drones gathered overhead again in an ominous swarm, and the Freeze Force soldiers still in service began to march on their position, Freeze Cannons leveled squarely at the group with Gueira’s shields no longer an impediment. 

“Gueira!” Galo barked, and Lio’s attention snapped to him. He stood before the massive heli-truck, staff hanging limp from one hand, and _pointed at Lio_. “Get him the fuck out of here!”

Lio instantly bristled. “What?! Absolutely not—”

“ _Gueira!_ ” Galo shouted over him, and Gueira straightened, clutching Meis to his chest with one arm, and then turned to Lio with a sad smile.

“…Yeah. Sorry, Boss. Can’t let you go down here.”

Lio opened his mouth, a dozen spitting protests already on his lips—this wasn’t how this ended, this wasn’t how _they_ ended—but the drones were readying that horrible beam to fire again, and before he could speak, Gueira raised his free hand and began to painstakingly craft a construct more massive than any Lio had seen him manage before. And that was because it wasn’t just _his_ construct—Meis, barely conscious and convulsing in Gueira’s grip, was offering his own support, their Burnish flames twisting and twining together to create…a _cannon_. 

Oh, _oh_ they meant this to be their last stand. They meant to spend the last of their strength laying down cover fire enough to destroy the entire compound, and he wanted to be pleased, to feel a renewed sense of urgency to do what needed to be done, just as they were, but he just felt _tired_. He could barely keep Galo in armor, couldn’t even call up his _own_ armor, and there was no time— 

“What—the _hell_ —” he sputtered, as Meis’s blue flames snapped out, gently scooping Lio up and bringing him to the mouth of the canon, depositing him—alongside Galo, cradled with far less care in the grip of Gueira’s flames—in the barrel like a chambered double-shot. 

Lio squirmed and twisted, bellowing to be released—no, _no_! Better to die standing than flee while his companions paid for his life with their own! Beyond the darkness of the barrel, Lio could hear the shouts and wails of his people being recaptured, the dull _thuds_ of Freeze Fire being unleashed indiscriminately and hitting target after target. 

“ _Fire it!_ ” Galo roared, and Lio cut off their connection and pettily drew the Matoi armor back into himself, hoping very much that his flailing about might now hit something sensitive.

“ _LET ME OUT!_ ” Lio snarled, voice raw and raspy from overuse, and he pounded at the walls of the barrel that felt like they were closing in, tight and hot and coiled—

Until with a _CRACK_ , he found himself abruptly vaulted into the dark, empty night sky, with Galo clutching onto him for dear life as they streaked away like a meteor.


	10. Chapter 10

They flew for what felt like ages, the wind whipping angrily at them, and Galo nearly crushed Lio in his grip as he held on tight, despite Lio’s angry spitting and flaring. He screamed himself hoarse as he struggled in Galo’s grip—and though Lio knew he had to be in agony, exposed to the full fire and fury of Burnish flames as he was, Galo never let go.

They crashed into the snowy blanket covering the face of an icy lake deep in a mountain wood, and Lio drew up his legs and shoved Galo away with an enraged kick, sending him sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, the snow sublimating with each step he took. If he dawdled, he would sink into the frigid, icy depths, until that too boiled away under the force of his righteous fury. 

So he would not dawdle.

He needed to get away, to get _back_. He needed to _not be here_. Gueira and Meis were waiting for him. Squad 2 was waiting for him. His _people_ were waiting for him. He’d told them he would save them, and he meant to do so. No more unnecessary constructs to distract and drain, nothing but Lio and his raging flames, yearning to be unleashed. He stood, legs apart and arms stiff and straight at his side. If he concentrated hard enough, he could _hear_ them, calling out for him, and though he knew it to be only in his mind, no more real than the voices he thought he heard in the flames sometimes, he was drawn to it like a sweet, siren song.

He clenched his fists, steadied his breathing, and forced his flames into his feet, using the lift to send him rising—

Something snagged at one ankle, yanking hard to draw him back down. “Where the— _hell_ —do you think you’re going?!” Galo growled, holding fast and somehow not entirely fucking up his hands as he was bathed in raw, open Burnish flame.

Lio jerked in his grip—then lost his tenuous balance and came down hard on the ice, which only fueled his fury. “To get back my family,” he spat with a deadly calm, rising to his feet. He was seething, down to his very core—a roiling, boiling mass of _pissed off_. “Get out of my way.”

But Galo planted his feet, shaky as they were on the snow-slick ice, and refused to budge. “You can’t. You can’t go back, Lio—you’ll only get yourself killed.”

Lio took several careful steps back, shaking his head. Anger sparked around him as Burnish lightning, and he could hear it crackling and snapping in the very air. “You _took me away_. You made them _send me away_.”

“For your own good! For _their_ own good! You can’t save them if you’re in there with them—and Freeze Force might need Burnish alive, for whatever reason, but I think they’d make an exception for you. You _mean something_ to your people, Lio. You’re like—like a beacon. And they’d kill you before they let you give those poor people more hope.”

Lio released a roar of rage, shoving Galo back bodily without laying a hand on him. “That’s not for you to decide! Those are _my people_. I’m their leader!”

Galo hissed from where he’d hit the ice, wincing as he struggled back to his feet. “Yeah,” he muttered. “You _are_ their leader. So _act like it_ , dammit!” 

“I’m trying to!”

“No, you’re wanting to go racing off without a plan, blinded by anger and exhausted beyond measure. Take half a damn second and _think_. Give yourself time to breathe.” He shook his head, glaring at Lio. “ _Listen_ to me—and stop putting me on my ass just because you know I’m right and don’t like it.”

And part of Lio _did_ know he was right—but that part was buried deep beneath boiling lava and an inferno of rage. Lio was _through_ waiting and hoping, far beyond rational thought. The fire in his veins was running hot, too too hot, so hot he needed to unleash it on _something_. And he very much wanted that something to be Freeze Force—and Kray Foresight.

With a swipe of his arms, he shoved Galo aside—but he barely budged, arms drawn up as he cowered behind a glossy black shield the size of a door and limned in a soft, green glow.

A construct—made of _Lio’s own flames_. This somehow enraged Lio even _more_. He couldn’t control _anything_ —even his own Burnish flames were betraying him, bending to Galo’s will and settling in his bones like they belonged there. Like Lio had given them _permission._

Galo wasn’t one of them, and the fact he’d been central to Lio landing here, in the middle of nowhere, miles from his companions who were in dire straights now because of it, was stark evidence of precisely that fact.

Lio’s breath came in a harried stutter, and he grit his teeth—then struck.

A wild right hook clipped Galo in the jaw, and his head snapped to the side as he staggered back. Lio didn’t give him the chance to breathe or collect himself, following it up with two steps forward so he was inside any guard that might follow and delivering a sharp knee to the stomach. Galo went down onto his knees, doubled over, but before Lio could bring an elbow down between his shoulder blades, Galo rolled to the side and was quickly back on his feet, breathing hard and glaring at Lio.

“That fucking _hurt_. I get you’re pissed—I’d be the same—but you don’t get to take it out on m—”

Lio took another swing, and this time, Galo was ready, arm up to block. Lio continued to turn his body, following the punch with a sweep of his leg, and Galo rolled with it. This continued—Lio attacking, Galo only defending—no matter what Lio threw at him. Fist or flame, Galo had a response that stalled him. They’d sparred dozens of times before, and Galo had never pulled this shit with him. Lio wanted a _fight_. He wanted to feel blood, wanted to inflict pain—and if he couldn’t have Freeze Force, if he couldn’t have Foresight, he’d take whatever was nearest at hand.

And then—Galo shifted to the side on a particularly hard punch, and _down_ Lio went, with Galo following him onto the ice to sit on his chest, using both knees to hold Lio’s arms to the ice. Lio squirmed and screamed, setting his whole body ablaze, and still Galo _took it_ , frowning down in thought while Lio’s traitorous flames protected him from suffering so much as a singed eyebrow. Rage and sorrow and frustration blinded him to all but this man, sitting here atop him and accepting _everything_ Lio threw at him. 

Grunting in effort, he hauled his lower half up just far enough to wrap his legs around Galo’s neck from behind, and with a twisting jerk, reversed their positions and dragged Galo down onto the ice. He planted his knees, straddling Galo’s hips, and snapped both hands up to wrap around Galo’s neck, leaning in with the whole of his weight. 

And still, he wouldn’t fight back.

Lio grit his teeth, shoulders shaking, and squeezed, as hard as he could. He would _make_ Galo fight him, force him to defend himself; he’d get his fight, one way or another, and if Galo wanted to roll over and just _die_ , after all this, then he was welcome—

Galo shifted under him, rolling his hips to brush against Lio’s ass—and with a startled gasp, Lio released him. Angry red marks in the shape of fingers covered Galo’s neck now, and his mouth worked feebly as he struggled to draw breath into his aching lungs. Bald shock came slamming up against the fury firing Lio’s blood and began to whittle away at it—which just pissed Lio off _more_. With a vicious snarl, he went for Galo’s throat again—but Galo was ready for him this time, hands snapping up to hold Lio’s wrists fast, refusing to be budged. Lio spat and struggled to jerk free, but this only seemed to encourage Galo to give another gentle, rolling thrust against him. 

Lio seized up, trying to lift off—but Galo held tight, drawing him close and continuing his thrusts, rocking in a slow, tantric rhythm that overlaid the fire and rage swirling inside Lio’s chest with something just as hot and just as wild but not nearly so violent. It coiled silent and oily through his veins, awakening something dark in the pit of his being—and then Galo wasn’t holding him, he was holding Galo, hands splayed over the ice as his hips gave a jerky, stuttering response, quite without his permission. He gasped, a choked cry, and rolled his hips again, and again and again and again, rubbing himself off because _god_ he hadn’t felt a heat like this before. Hadn’t thought he _could_ feel heat. It wasn’t the prickling of a blush, not the sharp slide of a brand over unmarked skin. It was new and hungry and desperate, and Galo was responsible for it. Like he was responsible for _everything_ unbearable that came Lio’s way.

Galo released his grip on Lio’s hands, sliding down to his hips, where he curved his fingers around the swell of Lio’s ass like he was grabbing Detroit’s handlebars, about to ride it hard and put it away wet. 

Lio’s fingers clenched into fists, and he pounded the ice with shouting groans as his hips continued to jerk fitfully. He could feel everything melting away—his resolve, his anger, the ice itself. How thick was the crust? He’d boasted they couldn’t drown—but he didn’t particularly want to test what was admittedly only a theory.

His head hung low, nose nearly brushing Galo’s as they lost themselves in the hot, frenetic slide of one body against another. Lio drew on all of the energy simmering within him, threatening to boil over—and he channeled it into this tight, narrow space between their bodies, closing the distance and spiraling tighter and tighter into an unforgiving coil until he was finally allowed to lose himself in Galo’s welcoming, understanding, achingly forgiving embrace.

His climax caught up with him embarrassingly quickly as he spilled with a sharp, frantic yelp into Galo’s shoulder, ruining his trousers. He thought Galo might have followed, but it was very difficult for him to concentrate on much of anything through the muzz of completion setting everything into a soft, drunken blur. Not that he’d ever been drunk, but he imagined it was something like this. 

He gulped in great breaths of air as his heart, pounding at breakneck speed, began to at last settle into a more sedate rhythm—and Galo, the rude jerk, gently eased him from his perch atop Galo’s chest and onto his back on the ice. Lio’s vision still flashed in brilliant-colored spangles, and the stars whirled overhead like a kaleidoscope. 

Distantly, he became aware of the discomfort in his pants, the sticky, oozing residue chafing against his dry skin—and with barely a thought, he sent a sheen of flame racing over his skin, incinerating all evidence anything untoward had just passed. As an afterthought, he performed the same service for Galo, who yelped at the sensation and leapt to his feet—before promptly collapsing back to his knees. 

Galo patted himself down gingerly, marveling. “…Cool.” And Lio somehow found it in himself to be amused, chuckling softly. This got Galo’s attention, and he asked, with a wary hesitation that suggested he very much expected the response to come in the form of a slug to the jaw, “Feel better now?”

“No…” Lio answered honestly, easing into a seated position and rubbing at his eyes. He felt wrung out, exhausted, and the anger was still there, but it was banked under a heap of dead coals. It would take rather a lot of tinder to get him going again, and he was just too _tired_. The urge to leave, to go back and be the leader his people needed was still there as well, but his head felt clearer, and he thought he had it in him now to stop, take a breath, and try and put together something resembling a plan. He touched his forehead, frowning to himself in consideration. “…How did you know that would work?”

“How did I know what would work?” Lio gave him a pointed look, and Galo shrugged, a half-smile curving his lips. “...Gueira and Meis aren’t sparring partners. I’m an idiot, but I’m not stupid.”

Lio would not argue with that. He reached out, taking Galo’s hand in his own, and stared—the usual panoply of nicks and scrapes and calluses, but nothing more remarkable. “…I couldn’t burn you. I tried, though—I could have killed you…”

“No you couldn’t,” Galo said, twisting his hand around so their palms pressed together. Lio tried not to be terribly distracted by the contrast, in every way. “Because even pissed as you were at me, you still couldn’t help the urge to protect me. Face it, Lio Fotia: you _like_ me, deep down.”

“…Perhaps very _very_ deep down…” Lio allowed. “...I’m sorry. You somehow always manage to see me at my worst.” His frown twisted bitterly. “It’s not a very good feeling.” 

Galo only shrugged. “Yeah, but I get to see you at your best too, and that makes up for it.”

Lio didn’t follow the logic—he rarely did with Galo—but if it meant his apology, pithy as it was, had been accepted, then he would not dwell overlong on it. 

Meis was probably dead, and Gueira too—but Galo, at least, was still Galo. Though all the heart and lug-headed brawn in the world wasn’t going to do them much good right about now.

They needed a plan, and it wasn’t going to magically come together while they were stuck some twenty feet down at the bottom of an ice pit in the middle of nowh—

_/Are you two quite finished?/_


	11. Chapter 11

Lio nearly jumped out of his skin—and Galo actually screamed—when the hologram manifested before their eyes, addressing them in an odd, wavering mechanical voice. It looked like no creature Lio had ever seen—nor like one Galo had ever seen, evidently, given the way he gaped stupidly at it, poking at it to test its solidity.

_/Welcome, Galo Thymos. Lio Fotia./_

Lio’s emotions were all over the place right about now, yet he still found it in himself to be shocked, keeping well back of the robotic stilts the hologram used to walk about on. “Who… _what_ are you?”

_/I will be glad to answer any question you have—and any you may not have—in due course. For now, I must request you follow me. There is much to discuss and precious little time in which to do so./_

Lio glanced at Galo, whose expression suggested he was equally puzzled as to what they ought to do and had been hoping Lio might take point. The hologram began to amble away—and with a soft hiss, a section of the ice slid away, revealing a stairway down into pitch-black darkness.

No, not a section of the ice at all, Lio realized as he eased shakily to his feet. A _doorway_. Somewhere in the course of their frantic rubbing and bucking, Lio’s flames had managed to boil away enough of the crust to reveal some sort of structure that had lain hidden beneath the ice. His boots clopped loudly as they stepped across the metal hull of what Lio guessed was a submerged ship—or perhaps an entire building, even.

Galo frowned, stomping loudly on the metal casing. “…What is this?”

_/My laboratory,/_ the hologram said. _/If you’re going to come inside, then do so—no more dawdling./_

“We weren’t ‘dawdling’,” Galo said, unhelpfully. “We were—”

Lio grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him toward the staircase. “Let’s not waste any more of the good hologram’s time, shall we?”

But the hologram disappeared as soon as they started down the stairs, and once their heads had cleared the doorway, it hissed shut once more, locking them in darkness. Wild panic speared through Lio, and he pressed himself against Galo—when a series of lights popped on overhead, illuminating a grated catwalk that led to a softly lit room just a few hundred paces ahead.

“…Are we really doing this?” Galo asked, showing a bit of uncharacteristic forethought and self-preservation. “Just strolling into the weird robot-hologram thingee’s spooky underwater lab?”

Lio felt the same sense of unease—but just as strongly, he felt like, somehow, they were meant to be here. “…He knew our names.”

“Yeah. So does Freeze Force. You don’t think this is a trap?”

“If it is…it’s a very elaborate one. The entrance was buried under twenty feet of ice.”

“Is an elaborate trap somehow easier to get out of than a normal one? That doesn’t seem like it would be the case.”

“…No, I suppose not.” And despite that, Lio continued to plod forward, drawn like a moth to the faint light glowing ahead. He paused only long enough to glance at Galo, one brow lifted as if to say _Are you coming, or not?_ , and Galo scrubbed at his hair with a long sigh, then fell into step beside him.

The room at the end of the catwalk, it turned out, was an elevator, and once they’d stepped inside, it began to sink further into the bowels of the laboratory. It seemed a very large, lonely place—certainly nothing like the bustling compound in which Gueira and Meis and the other Burnish were being subjected to who-knew-what horrors. When the elevator came to a stop, they found themselves in another pitch-black space, their path forward illuminated again by a series of lamps. 

“…If it’s a lab, where’s all the scientists?” Galo asked, and Lio very much wondered the same thing—but suspected he wouldn’t like the answer.

As if on cue, a grainy video was projected onto one of the walls, like the old movies Lio had heard about in his youth. The artefacts and poor quality, though, could never have blinded Lio to the identity of the man depicted: Kray Foresight. Younger, and without that patented confidence and slick smile—but Lio would have recognized him anywhere.

His fists clenched, white-knuckled, at his sides, and Galo muttered, “Kray…? What’s he…”

But he trailed off as he took in the video, which depicted a much younger Foresight conversing with an old man bearing a fluffy, snow-white beard who looked strikingly like the hologram that had invited them into this very facility. They spoke of something called a ‘Prometech Pod’, evidently an invention of some sort—and while the old man seemed dead set against releasing it publicly given its requirement of Burnish sacrifices to run, Foresight predictably did not see this as a drawback, taking a gun from his pocket and promptly murdering the old man in cold blood.

Galo took a step back, wavering on unsteady feet, and he laid a hand over his stomach—the same place the old man in the video had just been shot. “Kray…he… He _shot_ that guy…”

Indeed, he had. But Lio was focused less on the visual evidence of Foresight being every bit the monster he’d always been suspected of being and more on the suggestion there was some machine out there—this pod, whatever it was—that required Burnish to operate. Was that what was being tested at these black-site facilities? Were Freeze Force capturing any Burnish they could lay hands on and using them for experiments with this pod thing?

“…What’s ‘Promare’?” Galo asked.

“What?” Lio said, distant—his mind still churned with the thought of Gueira and Meis being tortured to test whatever the ‘Prometech Pod’ was.

“He said something about a secret, about ‘Promare’. You ever heard of that?”

_/I wouldn’t expect you to have,/_ the hologram said again, popping back into existence and nearly giving the both of them heart attacks. Did this thing not know how to manifest itself in _any_ other way? _/Kray killed me and then buried all of the evidence—stealing my research in the doing./_

“Kray…killed _you_?” Galo said, then glanced back to the video, which had gone black after Foresight had shot out the security camera recording the entire exchange. “You’re the guy from the video?”

_/I am all that remains of Deus Prometh. In another lifetime, I was a renowned scientist at the forefront of research into the Burnish and their fantastic abilities./_

“Research on _Burnish_?” Lio’s lip curled in offense. “Why were you studying us? We aren’t yours to experiment with.”

_/You misunderstand, Lio Fotia. My group did not experiment on Burnish—we merely studied you. Evaluating. Learning. We explored where your abilities came from, why some were chosen to become Burnish while others were not. We worked on ways to neutralize your powers—but not with the goal of harming you./_

The video projection disappeared, and in its place, the wall filled with a dozen different terms and phrases, images and readouts and datasets on topics like freezing agents, fireproof armor, oxygen-smothering materials…

“…These are all anti-Burnish measures.” 

_/That is how they’ve been implemented, yes—but look again./_

And Lio did, studying the screen with a frown until he saw the pattern: “…Anti-Burnish measures released by Foresight’s foundation. This was all developed through the research you claim he stole?” He straightened, narrowing his eyes at the hologram. “…What _are_ you?”

_/Alas, a mere ghost of my former self. I knew I was making myself a target by looking into the Burnish phenomenon—so I generated a back-up of my consciousness and uploaded it to the servers of this facility, hidden in the reaches of the northern Waste, with a trigger set for activation in the event of my death./_

“How did you know our names?”

_/I know much more than just your names, Lio Fotia and Galo Thymos. I’ve hacked myself into the Promepolis network—all so I can keep a close eye on Kray and his schemes. He’s been a busy boy all these years, and I fear he’s about to make a mistake most of us won’t live to regret./_

The projection shifted again—this time displaying views from a dozen or more cameras and drones that appeared to be stationed around Promepolis. All of them were transmitting video of the same event from different angles: what seemed to be an entire _block_ of the city—several blocks, really, including Foresight’s head offices—lifting clear from the ground to take to the sky. A floating city—it was _massive_.

A brilliant flash could be seen through several of the feeds, and though the cameras transmitted only video, Lio imagined he could actually _hear_ , even so far away and deep underground, the ear-splitting explosion the flash heralded as Mount Fennel, the volcano situated just southwest of Promepolis, blew its top and lit up the sky.

_/The ship’s name is Parnassus. She’s an ark, of sorts—meant to ferry a chosen ten thousand to a new world through a warp gate./_

“A…a new world? _Warp gate_?” Lio’s mind was racing, and he turned to Galo. “Did you know about any of this?”

But Galo had slumped to the ground, legs crossed and shoulders hunched. He looked up at Lio, a bitter frown on his lips. “…Do I _look_ like I knew?”

_/Kray has worked to keep the ship’s construction quiet—even those who’ve been granted passage have no idea of the ship’s true reason for being built./_

“Why, then? _Why_ was it built? Why is it taking off now?” Lio wanted to throttle the hologram—he didn’t need a lecture, he needed to know what to _do_. And he needed Galo to get up off his ass and demand answers _with_ him, not sit there and pout because he was finally starting to see the Kray Foresight everyone else saw. “Does this have anything to do with my people being captured and tortured? Is it that—that pod, then?”

_/The ship is leaving because the magma within the earth’s core has grown unstable—as you’ve just seen, and as is happening around the world at this very moment, the magma is bubbling to the surface and will soon engulf the entire planet. There is no escape but to the stars. However—the Parnassus requires a terrible toll to achieve warp: Burnish lives. By placing a fantastic degree of stress on a Burnish, their flames can be harvested and turned into energy to power the ship’s warp engines—though chipping away at their life in the doing./_

Lio’s stomach dropped, then twisted in on itself, and he wanted to vomit. “He’s sick…a _monster_. We’re as human as he is—and he’d step on our backs to save his own skin!”

_/And more’s the pity: the fool doesn’t realize that this problem is of his own making, and his efforts to leave the planet will be the very cause of its destruction./_

“How so?”

_/My research was incomplete when he stole it—as I tried to warn him, the Prometech Engine was imperfect. It was never meant to_ harm _Burnish—it was intended as a symbiosis. A partnership, an exchange—between humans and Promare./_

Lio perked up. “Wait—Promare. You mentioned that in the video. Something about a secret.”

_/Indeed. The flames you Burnish wield are no ordinary flames, as I’m sure you’ve realized. They’re a sentient lifeform from a parallel universe—and we came to call them ‘Promare’ through our studies. Thirty years ago, a rip in space-time formed deep within the earth’s core, connecting our universe and that of the Promare’s homeworld. Through that rip, a tiny fraction of the energy from millions upon millions of these ‘Promare’ seeped into our own core, where it synced through electromagnetic fields with humans who shared a resonance with them. Those humans subsequently became able to wield that energy themselves, with tragically destructive consequences: the Great World Blaze./_

“Those humans…those were Burnish?” Lio stared down at his hands, felt the warm, electric slide of the flames in his very veins and heard the elusive barely-there whisper that tickled at the back of his mind. _Promare_.

_/They were. And while it is technically possible to achieve interdimensional travel using the Promare’s energy—or what you see as Burnish flames—the imcomplete Prometech Pod induces those flames through a process that causes unimaginable pain to the Burnish themselves. This pain signal is then transmitted directly to the Promare with which the Burnish is linked. Torture the Burnish, torture the Promare. Cause enough pain, and the Promare’s combustion will spiral out of control—destroying the planet in the doing./_

“…The volcano.” Lio pointed to the drone footage still transmitting—the sky had gone pitch black as Mount Fennel belched out dark smoke and debris. “This is happening right now, isn’t it? If he tries to open a warp gate using Burnish stuck inside Prometech Pods, he’ll destroy the planet. He’ll kill us _all_. He’s insane!” He turned to Galo, sinking to his knees to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. “Can you stop him? Speak to him—convince him to stop this madness? If he knew—”

“He knew,” Galo said blankly, staring down at his clenched fists. “He obviously knew. He used my death—a death he planned—as an excuse to increase Burnish raids, to get more of your people to power this engine. He’s got dozens of eggheads working for him—he must have known what would happen if he tried to warp using those shitty pods.”

Lio wanted to slap him. Or punch him. He settled for shaking him harder, fingers digging sharply into the meat of Galo’s biceps. “You know him, though! There must be _something_ you can do—or if you’re going to sit here and just feel _sorry_ for yourself, there must be something I can do!”

_/There is nothing either of you can do,/_ Prometh’s hologram said solemnly, then added: _/But there is something you can do together./_

Lio eased to his feet. “Together?”

_/I want you two to stop Kray—destroy the engine and that ship before it manages to warp away and dooms everyone left behind on this planet./_

“Great. Fantastic idea, really.” Lio threw up his hands. “ _How_?”

The projection wall changed again—the entire display turning into a window, through which could be seen a vaguely humanoid structure of substantial size. _/Using the finalized version of the Prometech Engine—a true union of fire and flesh, Burnish and human./_

Galo was on his feet in an instant, nearly breaking his nose as he pressed his face against the glass with a look of such longing Lio felt a spark of jealousy. Ridiculous man. “What the hell is _that_?” Galo breathed dreamily, any despondence swept away by the prospect of a new toy to play with.

_/A superweapon, originally designed as a way to integrate Burnish back into society by giving them a way to use their powers to defend their fellow humans, rather than attack them. Now, you will use it together to take down Kray. I call it the ‘Deus X Machina’!/_

Prometh hadn’t even finished his spiel, and Galo was already yanking open a door he found in his frantic search of the projection room. He took off like a shot down the catwalk he found on the other side, making straight for what Lio deduced must be the cockpit. “Lio, you _gotta_ come check this out! This is the most badass shit I’ve ever seen!” He threw a look over his shoulder, though, and quickly corrected, “I mean, _after_ my Burnish armor, of course.”

“Of course…” Lio drawled, approaching the cockpit at a more sedate pace. 

Galo finally found the latch to open the pod’s hatch and climbed right inside, fiddling with buttons and switches and displays as if he had any clue at all what he was doing. “Wow… This is pretty impressive!”

“You understand all of this?” Lio asked, skeptical.

Galo gave a half-shrug. “Not everything—but I can read most of the gauges, I think. It’s not all that different from Lucia’s console.” He glanced around the pod, wrinkling his nose. “Though she would’ve made this thing look a hell of a lot cooler than it does.”

Lio had no idea who ‘Lucia’ was, nor did he care at just this moment. “It doesn’t matter what it looks like—as long as we can use it. Can you pilot this thing?”

“Gonna have to, won’t I? Not like there’s any time to find someone else.”

And indeed there was not. Lio regarded the pod with some degree of hesitation—how could an AI be entirely sure this wouldn’t kill Lio if he stepped inside? It wasn’t as if Prometh’s digital personality was Burnish, or even capable of sensation at all. 

“…You scared?” Galo asked, and though it could have been delivered in a needling, teasing manner—it was not. When Lio looked at him, there was only genuine concern in his eyes. 

“…No,” Lio said, and he wasn’t entirely lying. More than anything, he was _angry_ , and he could feel that raw, furious hatred beginning to bubble and churn within him once more, violent as the magma rushing up from below to engulf the world in fire and darkness. “I want my friends back. My family back. Nothing else matters but that.”

Galo leaned over the pilot console, frowning at him. “You’re so full of shit sometimes.”

The familiar tingle of a flush rose to Lio’s cheeks, and he spat back, “You’re one to talk! Jumping into that pod, raring to rush off and into battle when not five minutes ago you couldn’t bring yourself to speak two words.” He crossed his arms. “I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’ about Foresight, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Galo sat back, sighing, and stared up at the curved glass hatch of the pod. “…Maybe not. But you want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar,” Galo said with a rough little laugh entirely devoid of mirth. “I told you: you’re so full of shit sometimes.”

“…Fine,” Lio said with a sniff. “I told you so. I tried to make you see what he really was, _who_ he really was, and you refused to look. And now you’ve gone and had your dreams crushed and illusions dashed for no good reason. Does hearing that make you feel better?”

Galo squirmed in his seat. “Of course not. Why would it?”

“It wouldn’t. So I didn’t say it. Because I don’t _care_ that you didn’t or couldn’t see it before. What matters is that you know _now_. We both do. Everything.” And with that, he climbed up and over Galo, not minding where he stepped, and into the Pod’s core. “Now—what exactly am I meant to do in here?”

_/Focus, Lio Fotia: that is all that will be required of you. Concentrate on synchronizing with your Promare. Then grasp the control handles to connect your brainwaves with the Deus X Machina, and let your Promare flow through its channelling drivers as through your own veins./_

So he did, closing his eyes and drilling his consciousness down to a fine point—that point within his center where he heard the call of the flames most clearly. _Help me_ , he asked it, conveying his yearning and desperation and hope through his thoughts. _Help me save the others. Help me save your people and mine._

And the answer came with an upwelling of heat and energy, thrilling through him and out, expanding to fill every inch of the Deus X Machina. He continued to draw, to pull, until he was an inferno of power and will and need—enough to reduce to ashes any who stood before him and Galo.

“Easy there, Boss,” Galo snorted softly, fingers flying over the control panel. The pod began to gently hum with vibrations as the boosters achieved liftoff, sending them skyward. “Ease back on the throttle—it’s like driving Detroit. Don’t give it too much gas in one go.” As if Lio needed instructions on driving his own construct. Galo leaned back, tilting his head to grin at Lio. “I can’t hop back there to ‘pull your release valve’ quite so easily this time.”

If Lio hadn’t had to keep both hands on the control rods to ensure they didn’t fall from the sky, he would’ve been sorely tempted to clock Galo again, just for good measure, but as it was, he had to let the lewd suggestion lie. “Just concentrate on driving this thing…” he said instead.

“You got it. And you know what? I think I finally feel like going home now…” He quirked a brow at Lio. “How about it? Up for a little trip to Promepolis?”

Lio clutched tighter at the control rods, lips thin and drawn into a tight smirk. “Lead the way.”

_/I shall leave the saving of this planet to the two of you, now,/_ Prometh’s mechanized voice warbled over the comms. _/I have done all that I can; the rest is a task only you two can complete./_

“Only us two?” Galo repeated. “Why’d you choose us anyway? ‘S there something special about us? Like—maybe a cool prophesy or…?”

_/Prophesy? Something special? Where on earth would you get a notion like that? You literally fell from the sky and landed on the roof of my laboratory right as Kray was putting his final plan into motion. I didn’t choose either of you—you chose each other and came to me./_

“Wait,” Lio said, boggling. “You mean—you just…just _gave_ two random people who showed up out of nowhere a superweapon? And trusted we could save the entire _planet_?”

_/I didn’t have much other choice, did I? I can’t act to stop Kray myself—and you were in the right place at the right time./_

“That…that’s _insane_ , you realize?”

“Yeah,” Galo said with a strained chuckle. “I mean, I know I’m not the brightest bulb in the box, but that just seems…really stupid, I gotta say.”

_/Far from it: You two have a one hundred percent greater likelihood of defeating Kray and destroying his plans than anyone else, simply by virtue of you being present, and the very fact we crossed paths at all is a clear indicator that humanity still has a bit of luck on its side./_

“Gonna take a hell of a lot more than luck to bring down that ship…” Galo muttered.

_/That’s what the superweapon is for. Now—I wish you the very best. This has been Deus Prometh’s artificial memories, signing off./_

“Huh? Wait—professor?” Galo mashed the comms button. “Professor Hologram? Dr. Propeller?”

“He literally _just_ said his name…” Lio sighed. “Your memory’s still shit.”

“Maybe I just have more _important_ things on my mind—like saving the planet.” He tapped at one of the gauges on the console. “I think this thing means we’ll be in Promepolis within ten minutes. Hell of a lot easier on the ass-bones than straddling Detroit for the next two hundred miles, I guess…”

“Hm,” Lio said, thoughts distant, and Galo glanced up, catching Lio’s eye in the reflection of the pod’s glass hatch.

“…Is it weird?”

“Is what weird?”

“That you’ve got _aliens_ living inside you?”

Lio shifted uncomfortably. It _was_ weird—but he felt no different now than he had ten minutes ago. “It’s not as if I asked for this. If you’re so disgusted by—”

“Oh gimme a break. I asked you if it was weird. I didn’t say it was _gross_.” He frowned at Lio. “…Do _you_ think it’s gross?”

“Of course I don—” he started, then cut himself off, processing the question properly. “…I don’t. It’s…just strange. I don’t know what I thought the voices were…but I did think they were _mine_. That my flames were part of me, my own. To see it’s nothing but another living creature unwillingly bound to me, begging to be freed…” He shuddered. “It’s a terrible thing to consider.”

“You didn’t have any problem keeping _me_ unwillingly bound to you for a good couple months.”

“ _Galo…_ ”

“I’m just sayin’! Just ‘cause someone doesn’t have much choice in having to hang around with you for an extended period of time doesn’t mean they can’t…you know…grow fond of you. Enjoy being around you. Think you’re pretty cool.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Lio leered despite himself, lip curling. “Face it, Galo Thymos: you _like_ me, deep down.”

Galo hunched forward, turning his focus back to the dials and gauges and readings. “Uh, was it not obvious? I thought after we, _y’know_ …” He began to poke and prod at a series of switches, then turned a particular dial with a bright, “Ah hah!” of accomplishment.

“What?”

“All-channels comms!” He cleared his throat. “Uh, this is Galo Thymos, Burning Rescue Squad 3, badge number 003-07—I’m trying to contact Governor Kray Foresight. Governor Foresight, please respond. This is an open broadcast, _please_ respond.” Then, in a softer voice, pleading, he added, “…Kray, _please_. Please talk to me. Or just listen: This thing you’re trying to do? It won’t work. You can’t open the warp portal—it’ll destroy the planet the _instant_ you manage it. Not in a few months, not in a week, not in twenty-four hours— _as soon as you do it_. I know you think what you’re doing is the only way to save the planet, but you’re doing the _opposite_. Please just…just listen to us. We spoke to Professor…”

“ _Prometh_ ,” Lio reminded softly.

“Professor Prometh! And he told us what you’re trying to do and why. And…and just know that it won’t work. It _won’t_. There’s got to be another way, and we’ll figure it out. You’re better than this, I know it.”

Lio sat there in his core chamber, listening to Galo slowly backslide. Losing himself in the quicksand of devotion to a man who didn’t deserve it. But he let it happen, because Galo knew. He really did. He was an idiot, but not stupid. Just human. Lio didn’t have to like hearing it—he just had to not judge. He could manage that much, he thought. For now.

Galo left the comm on, staring at it with bald longing on his face, and Lio had to look away. Galo would accept, when it was time, that there would be no talking Foresight down from this—but not likely before then. When would _Lio_ have earned that loyalty, he wondered. Loyalty enough that he could threaten the destruction of the entire planet, and Galo would still be here, begging him to see reason.

He didn’t bother telling himself it wasn’t jealousy this time.

_/…Galo?/_ came a new voice over the comms, and Lio’s heart jumped into his throat—but it wasn’t Foresight. 

“Aina?!” Galo gasped with a laugh, releasing the attitude controls as he struggled to adjust the signal. The Deus X Machina listed to the right worrisomely. “Is that you??”

_/Oh my GOSH, I should be asking you the same thing!/_ The line went silent for a moment, then came back with, _/I’ve got the rest of the squad on the channel now! Where are you?! We thought…/_ A pause. _/I mean…everyone thought you were dead. The Governor had a press conference and paid for a funeral and everything!/_

“Oh yeah? Did lots of people show up? Ooh, did the Captain deliver my eulogy? Did I get any posthumous medals?”

The Captain… Lio recalled now that this ‘Aina’ was part of Galo’s Burning Rescue crew. Decidedly not the party they needed to be speaking to just at the moment—but Lio wouldn’t deny he was relieved to hear a friendly voice and not Foresight on the other end of the line.

_/I…wait, so you’re…you’re really not dead?/_

“Nope, sorry to disappoint.”

_/Then where have you_ been _? It’s been months!/_

“Yeah, that’s kind of a long story, and I don’t really have time to get into it right now. Me and Lio have to pay Kray a visit. He’s gonna blow up the planet and we thought we’d try and stop him.”

_/You—you were being_ serious _with that broadca—wait, ‘Lio’? Lio_ Fotia _? The terrorist?!/_

“Eh, he’s not so much a terrorist these days. Kidnapper, maybe.” Galo bent backwards, hands once more safely on the gears to keep the Deus X Machina on track, to grin at Lio. “Say ‘hi’, Lio!”

Lio felt the familiar prickling of blood rushing to his cheeks, and he kicked at the pod to spook Galo back into position. “Eyes front, Thymos. Or we’ll crash before we’ve made it to the Parnassus.”

_/Galo? Galo, where_ are _you? What’s going on?/_

“Why don’t you tell us? What’s it looking like from where you’re sitting?”

_/We’re en route to a dispatch call. The city’s a mess—Fennel just blew its top, so there’s debris everywhere, people are swarming the streets, and some…some_ ship _or something just took off from right under City Hall—/_

“Yeah, that’s the Parnassus. We’re heading there to take it down. It’s not just Fennel that’s blown—it’s happening all over the planet. Kray’s been up to some dirty shit, and it’s about to make the earth go BOOM, but if we can destroy the ship before it warps, we can maybe make the earth _not_ go BOOM.” He glanced back at Lio. “That sound about right?”

Lio felt a headache coming on. “From a five-year-old’s perspective, sure…”

Galo shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

_/Wait—warps? Like a warp engine?/_ Aina paused, then continued in a softer, more hesitant voice, _/Like what my sister’s working on?/_

“Oh! Hey, your sister!” Galo punched the air in victory. “Yeah! She’s probably involved, right?” He turned to Lio. “Right?”

“I have no idea who these people are, Galo.”

“Shit, right, you live in the middle of nowhere. Aina? You think she could help?”

_/Eh? I…I don’t know—maybe? She’s been acting really weird lately, actually…/_ There came a lengthy pause, and then, _/…She isn’t picking up her phone or responding to texts. If she’s on that ship, there might be some interference. I’m gonna see if I can’t get closer to it in the Sky Miss./_

“Good—and ooh, take this.” Galo’s fingers flew over the panel. “Got a data upload for you. Try and get it to your sister if she’s on that ship. Tell her the Promare in the core are gonna go crazy if Kray activates the Prometech Engine—they’ll destroy the core and fuck up the planet in the doing. There’s still a chance to stop all this, but if he warps right now, we’re all dead.”

“You remember ‘Promare’ and ‘Prometech Engine’ but not _Prometh_ …” Lio muttered, and Galo showed him a finger.

_/…I don’t know what any of those words mean, but I’ll try./_

“Hey, I barely know what they mean myself—but your sister’s a smartypants. She’ll know what to do.”

_/Roger that. Leave it to me! But—what are you gonna do? You still haven’t told me where you are!/_

Through the cockpit window, Lio could see the Parnassus looming into view. It hung under a darkening sky, and Lio had a sinking feeling that the distortions in the air above it were no trick of the eye. 

“Apologize to Lucia for me, but I kinda got a new suit—and now Lio and I are gonna go cause some mayhem. Galo out.” He punched the button to close the channel, then met Lio’s eye in the reflection off the hatch door. “You ready for this?”

“I ought to be asking _you_ that.”

Galo hardened his jaw, turning his gaze to the rapidly approaching bridge jutting up from the Parnassus’s body. “He tried to have me killed. He’s trying to kill my friends. He’s _gonna_ kill my family. I’ve still got some stuff to work through with him, but I can do that after we fuck up his shit.”

And that suited Lio just fine. “…That ‘Aina’…you think she can get word to her sister, if she’s really on that ship?”

“Hell yeah.” He pasted on a wild grin. “You aren’t the only one with a family you turn to when you can’t handle things all on your own. We get shit done in Burning Rescue Squad 3!”

With no further distractions to contend with, Lio had to admit that Galo was a rather impressive pilot. The Deus X Machina responded beautifully to his commands, and Lio felt a bit wrong-footed; he was used to being the one in command, the one driving a mission—to be relegated to a role where he was little more than fuel to keep the engines running was strange and left him wondering if there wasn’t more that he could do. 

“Do we actually have a plan of attack?” he asked, if only to quiet the insidious little thoughts whirling around inside his mind. “Only, I’m fuzzy on the details of just what ‘fuck up his shit’ involves.”

“Well, we’re gonna keep the ship from taking off.”

“It’s already in the air.”

“Don’t be a dick. Obviously I meant to keep it from doing the warp thingee.”

“All right. And how are we going to manage _that_?”

“How else do you think?” Galo raised a fist. “We’re gonna punch the crap out of it!”

“…Oh, of course,” Lio drawled. “How silly of m—” The Deus X Machina rocked violently, as a shockwave sideswiped it, and suddenly the cockpit was filled with angry blaring and flashing warning lights. “What?! What’s going on?”

“Ah shit,” Galo said, yanking on the controls as another blast reverberated through the mech. “Uh. I think we’ve been made.”

“Made?”

“They’re shooting at us.”

“No shit they’re shooting at us! Can’t we shoot back or something?”

“There’s no guns in this thing.”

“ _I’m_ a gun! Just—point the arms at the ship!”

Before Galo could do so, though, a concentrated volley of missiles slammed into them, head on, and Galo’s console went dark. Lio could feel his connection to the mech snap—and down they plummeted. Lio launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around Galo’s and quickly covering the both of them in a thick layer of protective Burnish armor. His stomach heaved as they dove, and it was only after the neck-snapping impact indicating they’d crashed—somewhere—that Lio dared to draw the armor back into himself.

He then promptly made a mad grab for the control rods again to keep from tumbling out of the Prometech Pod, for they’d wound up upside down. Galo collapsed against the glass of the cockpit hatch, massaging his head. “…Well that wasn’t fun.”

Lio tried to look around, but they were surrounded by debris and smoke too thick to see if they’d made it onto the ship or landed in the city below. “Hurry—back in your seat. We need to get our bearings.”

“They _shot us_.”

“Yes, and now we’re going to _shoot back_. Get this thing back on its feet!” Lio gripped the control rods tight, channeling his Promare—and though the response from the mech was sluggish, it didn’t seem irreparably damaged. “Maybe try _dodging_ the missiles this time instead of running headlong into them?”

“Hey, are you the pilot or am I?” Galo grumbled, struggling to climb back into his seat and failing. “…Wait, _are_ you the pilot? Or am I?” He tapped his temple. “I think I might’ve busted something up here…”

“Oh my god, we’re never going to be able to bring down this ship if you don’t _get us off the ground_.”

“I hate to break it to you, Boss, but I don’t think even us being off the ground is gonna help all that much. I mean, we did just get shot outta the sky…”

Lio felt irritation flare hot in his chest at the casual defeat in Galo’s voice. “Then what the hell are we supposed to do? Sit here and wait for our fate?”

“Nnnngh, no, of course not, but…” Galo gave a whining sigh. “This thing’s design is _super_ lame.”

“It’s _what_?!” Lio shrieked, because they were _not_ having this conversation right now. “Back at the lake, you wouldn’t shut up about how it was the coolest thing ever after your Burnish armor—”

“Yeah, _after_ my armor! Meaning my armor was cooler! I mean sure, it’s a big-ass robot, but it went down in one hit! Pathetic!”

Lio wanted to throw his hands up but held back, as he did not want to tumble from the pod. “Well _what_ , then? No—you know what? We don’t have time for this crap. Fine. You want your Burnish armor? Have your _fucking_ Burnish armor.”

He took a breath, closing his eyes and building the construct as he saw it in his mind—but a hundred times magnified. The pod amplified his energy, sending it jetting out to the mech’s appendages, and the armor took shape with surprisingly little effort. Distantly, he was aware of Galo absolutely losing his shit, showering Lio with enough praise to drown in and blathering on as he was wont to do when making an entrance, but his mind was laser-focused on building out the sturdy legs (for kicking) and burly armored arms (for punching) and crowned helmet (for preventing any further concussions).

Once satisfied they wouldn’t be quite so easily felled now as before, Lio came back to himself just in time to hear Galo dub their newly armored suit the _Lio de Galon_.

Lio slumped against the inside of the pod. “… _Really_? It needed an entire new name?”

“Deus Whatever doesn’t have any _pizazz_! Now people know who’s in charge of this badass new ride we’ve got!”

Lio sighed, clutching the control rods tight. “Suppose I ought to at least be grateful you didn’t call it the ‘Galo de Lion’.”

Galo held up his hands, suddenly solemn. “Hey, just so we’re clear, I’m good with it _either_ way. Whatever you’re in the mood for. Galo de Lion, Lio de Galon, we’ll have a good time all around.”

“Noted,” Lio huffed, cheeks and ears prickling at the distinct sense they weren’t actually talking about mech names anymore. “Just—get to the punching now? While you’re out here moaning about ‘pizazz’, innocent Burnish are having their lives siphoned away.”

“Oh—shit, right! Time for some divine retribution!” Galo slapped himself in the cheeks and gave a soft _okay!_ then grabbed the attitude stick and went to town.

Lio supposed he ought to have seen Galo’s rather… _quirky_ style of piloting coming. He really ought to have. Having spent months in his presence, and seen the way he handled himself in the field, it didn’t take a terribly great leap to imagine how he’d treat what was, at its most basic, merely a much _larger_ suit of armor.

And yet he still boggled when Galo felt the need to announce his attacks—and not just _announce_ them, but name them, and name them _ridiculously_. “Watch-out-for-fire Punch” and “Killer Move: One-Match Arson Kick”? He’d definitely let this fool spend too much time around the children. There was no telling what absurd habits they’d picked up from him.

“We’re getting nowhere fast!” Lio snapped when Galo began just stomping on the hull of the ship (“Kick, kick, kick!”). “We need to find the core and free the Burnish they’re using to open that gate!”

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Galo huffed, then slammed his fist on the comms button. “Oi, Kray! We’re gonna rip this ship apart piece by piece until we find the Burnish you’ve got locked up in there! So if you want to be able to drive this thing back to the lot and get your money back, you’d better cough ‘em up!”

But still Foresight refused to engage, and the warp gate overhead was rapidly nearing completion. Lio’s stomach turned as the portal consumed the last of the Promare energy needed to sustain a warp, and the Parnassus rumbled beneath their feet, the engines firing. “Shit. _Shit_ , they’re about to warp! _Do something_ , Galo!”

“Roger that, Boss,” Galo grunted, grabbing the attitude stick and sending the Lio de Galon racing for the base of the control bridge. Lio braced himself for another ridiculously named kick—but Galo seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, only slamming into the tower with the full force of their mech. He poured himself wholly into attacking the delicate structures keeping the bridge standing, and Lio’s heart leapt when the tower began to list worrisomely.

“Yes! That’s it—bring it down! They can’t control the engine without the bridge!”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere without a steering wheel, Kray!” Galo roared into the comms mic. “Give us back the Burnish you kidnapped! It’s over! We’re not letting you blow up the planet and just fuck off to another galaxy or whatever.”

_/…I really should have thrown you back into that fire when I had the chance./_

Lio stiffened, and Galo released the controls with a start, staring up at the bridge hanging overhead. “…Kray?”

_/But like a disgusting little cockroach, you keep. Coming. Back./_

And then the bridge was extending, jutting out even _further_ from the main tower—impossibly far, until it _snapped off_ and plummeted to the ground. In mid-air, though, it began to shift and expand from a featureless cube into—

Into another damn robot. Of _course_. 

But Galo was just standing there, gaping up at what Lio could only assume was Kray’s own mech coming straight for them, and to no one’s surprise but Galo’s, it slammed into them with a fair bit more force than the missiles they’d tangled with not ten minutes earlier. The impact sent them crashing straight through the hull—that wasn’t going to be good for space flight, Lio suspected—and down into what looked to be a long mid-town promenade, populated with fountains and pedestrian walkways and lined in beautiful, shining buildings that Lio suspected were all about to be reduced to rubble.

They’d landed square on their robot ass, and Kray now towered over them, powering up a nasty bit of ammunition that popped out of his mech’s abdomen. _/Let’s see you survive_ this _, you annoying little shit./_

“Release the Burnish!” Galo said, which was a great sentiment, and Lio was proud to see his priorities were properly sorted, but he had a very bad feeling about the humming green beam that looked ready to fire.

“ _DUCK_ , you idiot!” Lio snapped, doing his level best to keep their armor bolstered against the coming onslaught. The beam glowed ominously, releasing a high-pitched whine right before it was unleashed.

Galo did as he was told, albeit at the last possible second, bending just far enough backwards that the beam might have taken off the Lio de Galon’s nose if it’d had one but instead seared past them to absolutely decimate several buildings at their back, reducing them to their base elements and leaving behind a pile of dirt and debris.

“Holy hell…” Galo gaped. “He just…”

“There’s nothing left…” It was one thing for Foresight to imprison and torture Burnish—he didn’t see them as human. But his own _people_? 

_/Quite the demonstration, no? The Genocide Cultivation Beam, they’ve dubbed it down in R &D./_ Lio shuddered; the name was nearly as bad as “Watch-out-for-fire Punch”. _/It’s meant to be a terraforming tool, actually—for turning mountains into arable land once we arrive in the Omega Centauri system. This is hardly where I expected to unveil it—but needs must./_

“Oi!” Galo shouted into the comms mic. “What happened to the people in those buildings?!”

_/People? They’re obviously waiting below in the living decks! Did you really think we were going to attempt intergalactic travel with everyone wandering about the promenade like it’s your average Sunday?/_

Foresight continued to babble, expounding at length on the finely appointed quarters the ten thousand who’d been chosen to populate the new planet would be traveling in—and Lio leaned forward, hissing softly enough it wouldn’t be picked up by the hot mic, “…Punch out the gun.”

“Punch it?”

“Or kick it. Dealer’s choice.”

Galo decided this meant he was free to do both, and after darting under Foresight’s guard and delivering a sound jab to the gun that snapped it clean off, he followed up with a roundhouse kick that barely scratched the mech’s exterior but _really_ pissed off Foresight. He brought his fist down onto the Lio de Galon, which Galo barely managed to hold off. Lio bolstered the robot’s straining gears and shafts with fresh white-hot Burnish flame, but they couldn’t hold the position for long.

They needed a distraction, and Lio called out, “If you had all that fantastic technology and research at your fingertips, why not put it toward something _useful_ , like bringing the magma back under control?!”

“Uuuuhhh, Lio maybe don’t piss him off—”

_/Clearly we DID attempt that and failed! This world is unsalvageable, so we’ll be moving on to a new system and starting over. You’re only delaying the inevitable—but I won’t say it’s not a fantastic send-off gift to be able to take out two insufferable birds with one stone./_

He then brought his other fist crashing down as well, and Lio felt the impact reverberate down through the Lio de Galon’s legs, shattering the concrete upon which they stood. Galo was straining at the control panel, sweat beading down his back.

“Well no one—likes—a _quitter_ ,” Galo grunted, struggling to force back the arms of Foresight’s mech. Lio was safely insulated inside the pod from the strain of piloting, and he wished there were more he could do. He’d learned well, though, not to attempt more than he was confident he could handle alone. He would simply have to trust that Galo would do what he did best and somehow eke out a victory against this clearly superior enemy.

And then, Galo did just that: in one fluid movement, just as Foresight’s mech nearly had them down on their knees, he twisted aside, causing Foresight to overbalance and stumble. Without missing a beat, Galo then brought a two-fisted blow slamming down on what Lio assumed must be the mech’s cockpit.

For a split second, Lio thought— _really thought_ —they’d knocked his block clean off. But Foresight’s mech wasn’t so easily felled, and he came roaring back with a fist to their gut, sending the Lio de Galon flying down the promenade. This heralded a rapidfire exchanging of blows, and though Foresight kept them on the defense, Galo always found his footing, never missing a beat. 

Lio kept the mech in fighting form, repairing the armor as quickly as it crumbled beneath the onslaught, and Galo wasn’t the least bit stingy with his praise for doing so. “All that stands between us and freeing those Burnish is Kray and his Krazor X! If we can just get past him—”

“Wait, his _what_?”

“Krazor X!”

“What the hell is that?”

“The robot, duh! You can’t have a battle for the ages unless both of the mechs get cool names!”

It was an absolutely _terrible_ name, but Lio had come to expect this by now, and given that Foresight seemed to loathe it, blows coming harder every time Galo used it, Lio decided he could live with it. 

Foresight continued to reach into his bag of tricks, though, brandishing new and inventive tools he professed were intended to be used to help the migrants survive on their new planet but seemed perfectly designed for mech-on-mech warfare, and despite Galo’s superb piloting and Lio keeping their robot flush with energy, they weren’t making any progress. The Krazor X—god, Lio _really_ needed to call dibs on the next name—was simply too large, too well-equipped, and too resilient for the Lio de Galon to handle on its own. 

Galo, too, seemed to realize this, for his stamina was flagging and while Lio could have gone another ten rounds, it was clear such strenuous piloting was taking a toll on the poor fool. 

After getting put through an office building for the tenth time, Galo finally collapsed, slumped back against his seat and huffing and puffing. “This…is _really_ getting old.”

“Not quite as glamorous as you thought it’d be?”

“Not nearly.” He wiped a hand over his face. “We can’t win like this. We’re wasting time and getting our ass kicked—ass _es_ kicked? How many asses do we technically have here? One? Two? Three?”

“I really don’t think the number of asses we have is the issue here…” Lio peered through the cockpit glass, clouded with dust and dirt—in the distance, Foresight watched them from the Krazor X, exuding all the confidence in the world. He needed to be taken down a peg or two—Foresight was strong, but not unbeatable, and he was most vulnerable when his emotions got the better of him. It was a failing Lio was not immune to himself, and he was not above exploiting it.

“Ooh, you know what would really help right about now?” Galo made a tight fist and began miming sliding it up and down a shaft.

Lio went absolutely scarlet at the lewd suggestion, his ears and cheeks prickling like he’d just bit into a live wire. “I—we can’t do _that_ right now!” he hissed, praying Galo had remembered to take the comms offline.

“Do _what_?” Galo grumbled, fiddling with the straps holding him in his command seat. “I just wish I had my Matoi gear!”

“Matoi…” Lio frowned. “But I’ve _given you_ your armor!”

“Not my armor!” He made the lewd gesture again. “My staff!”

Oh. That _stupid staff_. The old, dirty mop he’d waved around for the children’s entertainment while he yodeled dementedly—and then the wicked black pike he’d somehow managed to construct using Lio’s own Promare for fuel during the raid. He still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of precisely how Galo had managed that fantastic feat.

“You think _that’s_ going to give us the edge we need in order to beat Foresight? _Seriously_? It’s a stick!”

“It’s not a ‘stick’! It’s a symbol embodying the proud heritage of fire fighters from—”

“Oh my _god_ , fine—have it your way.” Lio settled back into the pod, letting his focus draw down into a tight, thin line. A gleaming staff—and no puny pike like Galo had pulled off. No, this would be the sort of thing epics were written about: as magnificent and impressive as their armor, and as gaudy and ostentatious as the man who wielded it. _Matoi_ _gear_ —whatever the hell that even meant.

Galo was, once again, absolutely losing his shit, and Lio half expected him to pop the hatch and leap out to grab the staff with his own two hands. As it was, he nearly dropped the thing in his scramble to reorient the Lio de Galon quickly enough to strike a pose and deliver one of his characteristic extravagant introductions.

Foresight seemed about as impressed with these theatrics as Lio was by now, for no sooner had Galo swung his shiny new Matoi staff around than Foresight was _on them_. 

But Lio had learned by now that all it took to turn the tables in a fight with Galo was a good pep-talk—or a new piece of equipment. Foresight didn’t know what hit him. Galo was an absolute beast with the thing, though Lio had given the staff no particular powers of note, and in a whirl of energy and movement, they were suddenly back on top. 

Back on top, for a grand total of fifteen seconds.

For then a great booming reverberation echoed from below, and the Parnassus gave a worrisome jolt—before lurching to the side and then _plummeting_. Down they flew, like an elevator with its cables snapped, and the sudden bone-juddering halt they came to as they crashed back to earth slammed both the Lio de Galon and Krazor X against the ship’s roof. Galo had instinct enough to spear the roof with his Matoi staff and crawl back up onto the ship’s main deck, while Foresight tumbled back down onto the promenade far below, granting them a brief respite to catch their breath.

“What…the hell was that?” Galo huffed, glancing around. The skies were an ominous hazy purple, and Fennel glowed angrily in the distance. “…We crashed?”

“Yeah—look, the warp gate’s gone.” Lio pointed to guide his eye. “Your Aina must have gotten through to her sister. Or else the engine was more shoddily built than we’d thought.”

“I’m beginning to accept that Kray’s a lot of things, but being one to tolerate shoddy craftsmanship in the engine of his big-ass space ship isn’t one of them…” He peered through the cockpit. “Wonder if Aina’s still around… We could use Burning Rescue’s help getting your people ou—”

_WHAM_.

A huge fist came punching through the Parnassus’s hull, right between the Lio de Galon’s legs, and Galo had them on their feet and scrambling back in an instant as Foresight’s nasty mech clawed its way up onto the deck.

_/I’ll admit, Galo: I didn’t have much respect for you, but I did at least believe you had our best interests at heart. I see now, though, that you’re just as stupid as you are annoying. For you fail to see that there’s no stopping the destruction of this planet, and your meddling will only doom this ship and its passengers, who are truly the last hope for humanity’s continued survival./_ The Krazor X’s shoulders bulked, hatches opening to reveal a Freeze Cannon array. _/And I’ll be the one to see to their safety, protecting them against any and all threats—including insignificant little shits like yourself!/_

The cannons fired in a brilliant blue flare, and Galo once again narrowly managed to avoid getting their blocks knocked off with an impressive bit of maneuvering. The beam overshot the Lio de Galon, arrowing straight for the cone of Mount Fennel, where it encased the bubbling lava and magma in a cold tomb of ice. Even the scorching lava tubes that fed the volcano running deep through the crust underground had frozen over, splitting the earth as they spit up ice shards.

Lio boggled at the speed with which the beam had worked—they would most certainly have been dead if the thing had connected, even with Lio’s Burnish abilities. “What…what the hell _is_ that thing?” It made the weapons that Freeze Force used look like children’s toys. 

_/I call it the Absolute Zero Heat Death Cannon. Another tool meant to protect our intrepid colonists from deadly solar flares—and any Promare ‘incidents’ that followed us to our new homeworld. I’ll admit it’s a bit overkill to bring it out now, but you two have_ really _pissed me off./_ Thus saying, the gun array on the Krazor X’s shoulders began to whir to life once more, charging for another shot.

“If you’ve got that kind of thing at your disposal, use it to fix the earth’s core!” Galo shouted. “You just froze a fuckin’ volcano in one shot!”

_/And just how do you propose getting the weapon to the core to ‘fix it’ in the first place? Going to dive into Fennel yourself? I encourage any such attempts—by all means./_

“I’m pretty sure the Burnish would’ve been equal to the task! But my bad—why the hell would you ask the people who are _literally made of fire_ for help when you can just chuck them into irons and use them for fuel for your vanity project? It’s their home too! They’d do whatever they could to save it!”

_/And so they shall—by making the noble sacrifice of ensuring their brothers and sisters on board this magnificent ship will make it safely to their new home. In the meantime…/_ The Freeze Cannons whined loudly as they charged. _/Go to absolute zero freezing hell!/_

When the blast came this time, to Lio’s gut-wrenching horror, Galo didn’t even _try_ to dodge, taking the assault head on. Lio felt the beam’s force as a physical impact, shoving them back, but Galo dug in, stepping _into_ the blast, bit by bit. He clutched his ridiculous Matoi staff as if it could in any way divert the beam’s power, and while the armor was holding for now, it was doing so by the very thinnest of threads, and the moment it began to crack and flake away, they’d be left naked and exposed to the full freezing power of the Absolute Zero Whatever.

“If you’ve got a plan, now would be a good time to let me in on it!”

“The plan,” Galo grunted, inching closer and closer to the gaping maw of the Freeze Cannon array searing them with frigid blasts, “Is to stop him. It’s a pretty simple plan, but I don’t like to complicate things.”

“Oh my _god_ , you’re such an idiot!” Lio could feel the armor begin to fail, even as he tried valiantly to patch the cracks. Before his very eyes, the Matoi staff leveled right at Foresight’s mech crumbled into nothing, debris whipping away in a flurry.

“Maybe,” Galo allowed, “But I’m the _biggest_ and _best_ idiot you’ve ever seen. Give me some credit. And then, if you’re still feeling generous—a final blast of those flames of yours would be appreciated!”

He yanked on the attitude stick, reaching with the Lio de Galon’s crumbling arms into the heart of the array—and Lio saw what he meant to do. The couldn’t take out the guns from a safe distance. They had to be _right at the muzzle_ , meeting the guns with overwhelming force, just enough to break through and destroy them from the inside. They were going to die—death by _freezing_ , and if that wasn’t the most ironic end for a Burnish, Lio didn’t know what was.

But they weren’t dead yet, not just yet—so Lio poured out his everything. His flames and heat and burning desire to free his people, to finally prove to Galo he was more _worthy_ than Foresight, more _deserving_ of that red-hot passionate soul. He was an idiot, and he _was_ a little stupid too—but he was just the sort of stupid idiot Lio found more endearing than annoying, and fuck if Lio didn’t want just a little more time to spend with him. 

His flames met frozen death—met it head on, and then _shoved past it_ , filling the Krazor X up with blazing heat and iron will and all the harshness that came with being Burnish. Let Foresight finally _see_ , finally _feel_ what it meant to be hated and loathed and have death wished upon you with every breath. He thought he might be screaming—someone was, of this he was certain, and his throat felt scraped raw, but he was too focused on forcing the whole of his Burnish flames, his _Promare_ , upon Foresight and his stupid, _stupid_ mech that was no match for the combined forces of Lio and Galo. _Lio de Galon_. It wasn’t such a crazy name after all, he thought distantly.

Perhaps he was going a bit loopy from the cold, actually.

And then he felt everything _snap_.

No more sheer cold, no more roaring gale, no more _anything_. Just deathly quiet, the Krazor X standing there, run through with a hundred jet-black spears of Burnish flame. 

Lio gaped at his handiwork, fingers still twitching as Burnish sparks danced across his skin—and from the cockpit, Galo gave a loud sneeze.

“F-f-f-f-fuck that’s c-c-cold! L-Lioooo! Help m-me out h-here!” His teeth chattered loudly in the sudden quiet that had fallen, and though Lio was under no impression they’d beaten Foresight, he trusted the Krazor X wouldn’t be going anywhere soon and climbed from the Prometech Pod to crouch beside Galo, who shivered pitifully. 

“All that time in the northern Waste and you still haven’t gotten used to the cold?” Lio tutted softly under his breath with a faint smile.

“W-w-w-well I was sl-sleeping next to a f-f-f-furnace ev-very night.” Lio laid his hands on Galo’s arm and shoulder, calling heat into his fingertips and rubbing the muscles much as he’d done while thawing Galo from his ice block prison those months ago. Galo melted under his ministrations, leaning wholly into Lio. “Oh _fuck_ you’re amazing…”

“Careful, such compliments are liable to go to my head.”

“Mmm, but it’s the truth…” Galo shivered—this time from pleasure, Lio thought, rather than the chill. “Guh, I oughta get you to do this more often.”

“I’m afraid it’s reserved for life-and-death situations,” Lio muttered, ears and cheeks prickling.

“Well, if I gotta march out onto the tundra half-naked to get you to put your hands on me, then so be it…” He leered up at Lio. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

For that, Lio gave him a little zap on the nipple. “If you’re feeling warm enough to make inappropriate jokes, my work here is done.”

Galo frowned at the starburst burn mark on his shirt, rubbing his chest with a wince. “I’m gonna remember this when—”

“Shh!” Lio hissed, scrambling to his feet and peering out the cockpit window. In the distance, something was moving in the gloaming darkness, crawling from the battered husk of the Krazor X. “…Foresight…”

Galo followed his gaze, squinting. “Seriously? God I’m so tired of this… Can’t we just get your people and _leave_?”

Lio gave a derisive snort. “You think he’d actually let us do that?” 

“We could try asking nicely. Maybe offer him a platter of bagel bites.”

Somehow Lio doubted Foresight would be quite as easily swayed as Galo had been by the promise of decades-old frozen pastries.

“So…” Foresight said, booming voice echoing in the cold and quiet from his perch atop the remains of his mech. “You’re _so_ desperate to save your comrades, you’re willing to doom the rest of mankind in the process? Lio Fotia.” He tutted under his breath. “While I commend your commitment, one avowed savior to another, I’m afraid that simply won’t be possible for the likes of you. For you see…Burnish aren’t fit to _be_ saviors. They lead a cursed existence—from the moment they first draw breath until their final dying gasp, theirs is a life of destruction. _Self-_ destruction. I had hoped to give you and your ilk purpose, that you might for once bring life instead of death—but you seem hell-bent on being your own undoing. Why—listen to that!” Foresight cupped a hand to one ear. “Can you hear it, Lio Fotia? Their cries—their wailing and weeping? Poor, unfortunate souls—rotting in their pods, crumbling to ash with each passing moment. Trapped because _you_ couldn’t rise above your nature and for _once_ in your life actually save someone.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Galo bit out, reaching for Lio’s arm and shaking him. “Oi, ignore him. He’s talking out of his ass because he’s got nothing left to play but that silver tongue.”

But Foresight raised his voice, taunting, “Oh, you could attack me, if you _really_ wanted to—you might even land a blow. But you won’t. You and your vaunted Burnish pride! As if you’ve anything to be proud _of_! You’ll never take your vengeance! Never seek out the retribution your friends so rightly deserve—because you’re _too weak_. Too cowardly to take that final blow. And that is why I’ll win, Lio Fotia. That’s why I’ll _always_ win—and you’ll be but a stumbling block, shit scraped off the bottom of my boot as I move on to greater things, a brighter future for humanity built on the backs of Burnish!”

_Burnish don’t kill_.

This, he’d always maintained—and it was a mantra that had brought him thus far with a clear conscience.

But he wasn’t Burnish right now. He was a man. A man who’d had _enough_.

“Lio—Lio, hey. Calm down—”

He was Lio- _fucking_ -Fotia. Fire and blood, blood and fire—they raced through his veins, giving him life and breath and _purpose_. This man, this insignificant _fool_ who dared stand against him? He would learn what folly it was to challenge Lio, to threaten his family, to treat such tenderly given faith and trust with _such_ disdain.

He could feel his blood boiling—it prickled and pinched, spurring Lio on. He climbed over Galo, a low growl forming in the back of his throat, and though Galo reached for him, grabbed at him, he quickly snatched his hands back with a wincing hiss.

“Lio— _fuck_ that hurt—hey, where’re you going?! Lio— _don’t_ —” But Lio had already popped the hatch, scrambling over the frozen, battered remains of the Lio de Galon. “ _Lio_! Don’t kill him! _Please_ , you can’t—!”

He arrowed for Foresight at a frenzied clip, Galo’s desperate pleas subsumed by the hum of the boiling blood pumping in his ears. _Burn the world_ , those insidious little whispers urged, the Promare he was linked to encouraging his darkest instincts, and he tamped them down. Not the world, no, the whole world didn’t need to pay.

Just _this one_. Just _him_.

He drew on everything he had left—it didn’t matter if this sapped him wholly. Once it had been done, once Foresight was ash on the blustering winds, this would all be over. The roiling magma bubbling up from the core would subside, or else they’d have time enough to work out how to bring it under control, to right all the wrongs Foresight had wrought. Just this one…last… _push_.

He unleashed the full force of his rage, pain, defiance upon Foresight in a blistering wave of destruction—no, to leave behind even ash would be too kind a fate. There would be _nothing_. He didn’t deserve a grave, he didn’t deserve remembrance. He deserved to be forgotten, to be lost to time and memory, a fireside tale meant to spook children into behaving. He deserved—

“Is that _really_ all you’ve got, Lio Fotia? This pathetic fart in my face? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything more.” An arm came ramming through the wall of flames, catching Lio off guard with a hard hook that sent him flying. Foresight stepped through, dismissing Lio’s flames with a casual wave of his hand—a hand attached to an arm covered in wicked jet-black armor. “Weakling.”

Lio’s stomach heaved, and he gasped for air—the blow, he was certain, had broken something, and he didn’t dare make any more false moves, wary of puncturing a lung. “You…you’re…”

“Ah, very good—no brain damage, it would seem. Indeed. I too suffer that most heinous affliction—yet I alone had the will, the _strength_ , to suppress those base urges you and your brothers and sisters so easily gave into. I alone have risen above this mutation, this _curse_ —because I said _no_. I _refused_ to be manipulated by the Promare, to be bent by their instincts.”

“You’re—just a hypocrite,” Lio huffed, a pang shooting through his abdomen. “Acting like you’re better than the rest of us—”

“I don’t _act_ like it—I _am_ better. Look around you. Look at what I’ve built.” Foresight spread his arms. “You’ve _lost_. You can’t stop me—you think just because that bitch Ardebit threw a wrench into my engine that I’m about to give up? Oh _no_ , my boy.” A jet of flame shot out, curling around Lio’s broken body and snatching him up like a rag doll. Lio’s head snapped painfully, and he bit his tongue. The flames tightened about him, like some ancient serpent, squeezing and crushing, and Lio gasped for air. “Shit on the bottom of my boot—that’s what I said you were. But even shit can be used for fuel, in a pinch. You’ve cost me my core, so you’ll have to pay for it in flesh and blood.” Lio’s heart shuddered, fear rippling through him—surely he didn’t mean… “We’ll lead humanity to a new world, you and I. And you’ll _finally_ be the hero you’ve always dreamed of being.”

_BLAM._

A shot of Freeze Fire pelted Foresight in the arm, sizzling for a moment before melting and fizzling away to steam. Foresight regarded the assault with a mild expression, eyes tracking from where he’d been hit—to the man who’d shot at him.

Galo stood, a Freeze Pistol braced with both hands and the muzzle leveled straight at Foresight. “Drop him. Or the next one’s aimed at your head.”

Had Lio not been locked in a deathgrip at the moment, he might have been tempted to clock Galo across the chin. What was it with this man and going up against people ten times stronger than him with the equivalent of a child’s water gun? He had a big mouth and equally big words and not an ounce of firepower (or good sense) to back it up. The sentiment was appreciated, and Lio’s heart somehow found the strength to do a fretful double-beat, but this was not a fight for normal humans. It wasn’t even a fight for _Burnish_. You couldn’t fight fire with fire—it was the first lesson any Burnish learned, or else was taught. 

“Get—out of here—idiot,” Lio grunted, and Foresight squeezed _harder_.

Galo responded to the suggestion by following through on his threat, sending another three shots of Freeze Fire straight to Foresight’s face. 

Even Lio could feel the fury radiating from Foresight in waves of angry heat as he drew himself up, shoulders squared. “You have been an _immense_ pain in my ass for so many years. I can’t tell you what joy it will bring me to not only be rid of you, but to have been able to reduce you to ash myself. Trust I won’t make the same mistake Vulcan did and assume you’ll have the decency to drop dead when asked to do so.”

_BLAM_. Another shot, and Galo’s arms were shaking. “What the _hell_ did I ever do to you?! I looked up to you! You were my _hero_!” His voice broke. “But you tried to have me _killed_.”

“I’ve always said, if you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.” Foresight shrugged. “It wouldn’t have come to this if you’d just died any of the _dozen_ times I gave you opportunity to do so—instead, you had to keep coming back. And certainly you were useful for a time—you helped cover up my Burnish awakening, as everyone was so preoccupied with praising the young man who saved a child from a burning building, they didn’t dig too deeply into how the fire started in the first place. That incident brought me to the attention of funders, backers, politicians who were happy to have their hands greased along the way as I rose to power. You did wonders for my reputation, I’ll give you that.”

Galo looked like he’d been shot in the gut, gun dropping. “You…you didn’t save me? The fire…”

“It’s not healthy for Burnish to suppress their abilities for too long.” He gave Lio another crushing squeeze. “Isn’t that right, Lio Fotia? I’m sure you can relate…” But Lio couldn’t have responded even if he’d wanted to—every breath hurt, burning and sharp. “I even approved your request to join Burning Rescue, delighted you’d _begged_ me to be placed in a line of work with such a deliciously high mortality rate. Yet here again, you ruined my plans, coming back after each and every dispatch, bruised and battered but wearing that stupid grin and calling for me in that grating voice. I’d planned out every step of my life, ensured I was precisely where I wanted to be _when_ I wanted to be—but you were an irritating anomaly. I couldn’t be rid of you quickly enough.” He held up a finger, then pointed it at Galo as if a gun. “But no more.”

A beam of white-hot light shot from his finger, and Lio reacted without thinking, body acting before his mind had even registered what was happening. His Promare leapt from his body, burrowing into the ground where it snaked under Foresight’s shot and burst up at Galo’s feet, shielding him from the blast. The force of the blow hit Lio on a level he hadn’t been aware of but he distantly realized must be his over-taxed Promare straining against Foresight’s superior firepower. Still, he dug in his metaphorical heels. Galo was an idiot, but a well-meaning one, and Lio had done all he could to protect this well-meaning idiot from himself thus far—he wasn’t about to stop now.

But the choice was not entirely up to him, he realized with resignation, for his body was too broken and his spirit too sapped to stand against Foresight for forever—and in a last desperate bid, he released the shield, instead wrapping Galo in a warm, protective cocoon of his Promare as Foresight’s blast finally slammed home.

“ _Galo!_ ” he choked out, but Galo was gone, knocked clear of the wreckage. Dead, alive, it was impossible to tell—under the circumstances, Lio wondered if perhaps ‘dead’ might be the better outcome. He shuddered in Foresight’s grip. “You…fucking _monster_ … He loved you— _worshipped_ you…”

“I never asked that of him. Besides, where’s the allure in the love and worship of one, when I can have it from _ten thousand_ on our new homeworld, as their savior?” 

Another long tendril of white-hot flame whipped out, digging into the battered remains of the Lio de Galon and snatching up the Prometech Pod. Then, like some demented angel, Foresight spread wide, white wings of flame and dove, Lio crushed in his grasp, back into the belly of the Parnassus. 

It was quiet as a tomb. No whipping wind, no lightning crackling overhead—just cold and dark and dead. Lio could sense the comforting warmth of the thousands of Burnish locked in the pods around them, lining the walls of the ship’s hull from stem to stern, but it was distant, and weak. They’d already been through so much, and Foresight intended to use Lio to torture them even _more_.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Foresight marveled, following Lio’s eye around the hold. He slammed the core into place, amidst the debris of what must have once been the central control housing. Live wires dangled overhead, sparking feebly, and cracked, dark monitors hung cocked at odd angles from stabilizing arms. “Each and every one of these pods holds one of your brothers or sisters. A regular family reunion here—can you feel them? I can, so I imagine you can as well. Oddly comforting, no? Consider it my final mercy. You’ll serve your purpose, surrounded by loved ones. This ship will soar to a new world, a new life for all on board—all but you, who’ll become a legend in your own right. I’ll make sure of it, this I can promise you.”

“Don’t…want to be anyone’s legend…”

“Of course you do—you wanted to be the savior of your own people, so surely you can sympathize with my goals. Respect, adoration, even a bit of fear—these are basic desires we all have. Human or Burnish.”

“Burnish _are_ human!”

“Perhaps once. But you’ve chosen to walk the path of destruction, whereas I? I shall be these people’s _savior_. Let the Promare keep this world—it was ruined before they arrived, so let it burn in their fire. We’re destined for greater things, you and I. Only we’ll accomplish those greater things by slightly different means.” He tossed Lio into the Prometech Pod, then quickly bound him with the wires dangling overhead, soldering their connections directly to the pod. Lio wished he’d had the strength to even summon his Promare to singe Foresight’s fingers; as it was, it took all he had left to so much as speak.

“You won’t get away with this…” he said, pithy as it was, and Foresight laughed, because he had every right to.

“I’ll let you think that. See? I’m not so bad as all that.” Foresight moved to a control board, swiping away the debris that had half-buried it, and began to punch in sequences in the computer. His finger hovered over a button, and he glanced over to Lio, smiling. “I look forward to working with you, Lio Fotia.”

Then he slammed his fist down on the button, and Lio _broke_.

Like an overcharged battery, the energy of thousands of Promare flooding his battered body set Lio’s nerves on fire, and he hadn’t felt heat in _so long_ , he’d forgotten it could be like this, agonizing and unending and devastating. Not the warmth of a loved one pressed close, not the comfort of being wrapped in a soft blanket—just pain and fury and the bone-deep understanding that this was not _his_ pain, but theirs channeled through him. Meis and Gueira and countless others, nameless and faceless, who would never know peace again. He shouldered their fear and desperation, taking it in as his own and molding it into pure, unadulterated _fury_ , because it was the only thing that could distract from the agony.

His chest felt empty—no, _open_. Gaping wide, like anyone could pass through. A ghost. There were screams—but it was impossible to tell if they came from the other Burnish, the Promare, or Lio himself. Perhaps they were all of them screaming, screaming because it was all they had left.

The gaping _emptiness_ widened, wider and wider, impossibly wide. Yet even it was not enough to ease the unbearable influx of energy rushing through Lio. Not enough, not enough by _half_. 

_More_.

No. No it was too much already. Not enough and _too much_.

_More!_

A single thread of conscious thought wound its way through the maelstrom of pain and fury to coil teasingly around the edges of his mind, licking like the fingers of a flickering flame. _More…_ it whispered. _More more more!_

But he couldn’t give it more. He’d given _everything_ , was still being _taken_ , and yet it was not enough. He was one man. One tiny, insignificant spark. Destined for destruction. 

He had to turn away from the desperately pleading whispers—they were but another voice, screaming into the din around him, that he could hear but do nothing to help. 

The emptiness had all but consumed him now, still taking and taking and taking, never satisfied, never filled—and Lio could not feel anything anymore. The agony had become part of him now, his new normal—the baseline by which all other sensation was measured. Though, he suspected the numbness could be attributed to the fact that pieces of him were literally flaking away, like the Lio de Galon’s armor exposed to the raw force of Foresight’s freezing beam. They’d beaten it, in the end—he and Galo. Together. But Galo wasn’t here now, and Lio was fading, ash on the wind like poor Thyma.

God. He didn’t want to die.

He wasn’t afraid of dying—it was only, he didn’t _want_ to. Living was misery, but you had to live if you wanted even a chance at happiness. And _god_ he wanted to be happy. He wanted to do one of those close, swaying dances in the living room to an old scratched-up record, like his parents had once upon a time. He wanted to eat until he was so full he felt like he might burst, only to realize he could still stomach dessert. He wanted to kiss Galo again, and then again, and a few more times after that, until he got tired of it. 

He didn’t want it to just _end_. Not like this. Not when they’d come so far—

_LIO!_

Oh. A new scream. Not from him, not the others, not the Promare—not even Foresight. Distant, but it cut through everything, a bright axe swinging down and _severing_ —

The emptiness collapsed in on itself, like a black hole, and everything drew back into Lio all at once and then out again, out to the others, before the connection went dead. Dark. Extinguished.

The first thing that came back was the pain. Suddenly there was a degree of comfort to be had, and that contrast set Lio’s every nerve ending alight. Each breath drawn was like glass raked through his lungs, and his bones felt like white-hot pokers driven through his muscles. The agony was everywhere, but Lio couldn’t escape it this time. It was a constant throbbing reminder inexorably crushing him.

He was distantly aware that he’d collapsed, unable to support himself any longer. The wires bit into what flesh remained attached to the feather-light weight of his body hanging lifeless inside the pod. He tried to move his legs, to flex his fingers, but he couldn’t feel them. Didn’t know that he even had legs or fingers remaining. 

His consciousness spiraled down to a tiny point, black and dark and cold drawing in around him. His hearing went mute beyond a high, tinny ringing, and he closed his eyes. He was tired, so very tired, and he didn’t want to go—but he was so tired. Surviving hurt—succumbing would be bliss. The emptiness was gone, and that had to be a good thing, didn’t it? He couldn’t feel the other Burnish all inside him—racing _through_ him—anymore, but he could still hear their echoes. They were alive—raging and frightened and so confused, but _alive_.

They’d stopped the ship, somehow. The Promare were still trapped—Lio could feel his own suffocating in his chest, sputtering feebly and gasping for breath—but…maybe they could come back from this. Maybe they could ease the suffering of the Promare, stave off the annihilation of the planet. Maybe with Foresight out of the picture, maybe…maybe…

_I don’t want to die._

The feverishly whispered plea sounded so like Lio’s own stray thoughts, he dismissed it outright—just his mind, spouting nonsense as it shut down. Babbling in the darkness. Childish fears he ought to be beyond.

But then it came again.

_I don’t want to die!_

And this time, it was stronger, far stronger than anything Lio could have mustered, and he registered the warm familiarity of the voice. _That_ voice. The voice he’d heard first when his Burnish powered had awakened, that had followed him every step of the way, through the cold and the dark and the loneliness until he found his people. His friends. His family. 

_I don’t want to die. I want to burn! To burn forever and ever! Hotter and higher and brighter! Let me burn let me burn let me burn let me_ —

“Don’t you _fucking_ fade on me, Lio! Stay with me!”

Something kindled in his chest, a spark, filling him up where the emptiness had been. Like when Galo had kissed him, when he’d touched Lio on that cold, wild lake out in the Waste. It strangely calmed and excited, all at once, and the whispers grew stronger, beating against the inside of his skull. It was a throbbing, drumming demand now—

—and it drew a great thudding heartbeat from Lio as he gasped, oxygen rushing into his ruined, regenerating lungs. The heat in his core flared bright, supernova white, spreading through his limbs and _god_. He had limbs again. He could feel his fingers flexing, and someone was cradling his neck, gentle and careful with trembling hands. Something wet his cheek, a drop against his skin, sliding down along his jaw.

“...at’re you crying for, idiot?” His voice was a raw, grating rasp, like he hadn’t used it in ages. Maybe it _had_ been him, screaming there in the midst of all that chaos. “Thought we won.” He tried to lift his hand to touch Galo’s chin, which was wobbling worrisomely, but his strength failed him.

Galo grabbed his hand anyway, practically crushing the delicate bones to dust as he clutched it to his chest. He laughed, thick and choked, and sniffed, “Yeah, but. You were gonna miss the victory parade. Couldn’t let that happen.”

Lio frowned, eyes tracking to his hand, clasped in Galo’s. He was whole and unharmed—as was Galo. Barely a scratch between the both of them, and that didn’t seem possible. Perhaps these were his final fading thoughts, playing a cruel joke on him. “…You saved me…?”

Galo grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “You bet your ass I did! It’s my job, after all. And you’d better be grateful for it, too: you’re probably the only person in the world I’d ever _deliberately_ set a fire for!” He poked Lio in the chest meaningfully. “…Just returning what I borrowed earlier.”

Lio’s senses came back in slow, rhythmic waves—he could smell fresh ozone and something burning, could feel the little pinpricks of pain from debris digging into his exposed flesh, could hear the faint wailing of wind from some open wound in the Parnassus’s hull, and he could taste—

“Galo…” he breathed, and with every ounce of his rapidly replenishing strength, he reached out with his newly regenerated hands to grab Galo by the jaw and draw him close, slotting their lips together. There was no music to dance to, and he had no appetite to speak of—but this, kissing Galo like it was the end of the world, like he might never have the chance to again, he could do. Galo hesitated for only a heartbeat before gathering Lio in his arms and—tenderly, delicately, as if fearful Lio might yet crumble into ash and whirl away on the rising wind—leaning into the kiss with his whole body. He was still trembling, Lio could feel it—and though Lio wanted to take this moment and do it justice, to reassure them both that Lio was _here_ and would continue to be here for as long as he could manage it, they hadn’t the time. 

He needed to, just for a little longer, be a leader and not just _Lio_. So he reluctantly broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Galo’s and willing his heart to stop its frantic racing, because he needed to catch his breath. “…I think I needed that…”

“Happy to help, Boss,” Galo said, a bit breathy himself, then swallowed thickly. “Any reason we stopped?”

“A big one,” Lio said, carefully easing into a seated position, where he gathered the strength for a final push to bring him back onto his feet.

Galo tried and failed to hide a self-satisfied smile, rubbing at his neck. “C’mon, it’s not _that_ big—I mean, you’ve obviously never met Varys, and I’ve seen him in the showers. _Whoo_.” He gave a low whistle, shaking his head, and Lio rolled his eyes, reaching over to punch Galo lightly in the shoulder. Lightly, only because he didn’t dare risk overexerting himself with anything harder.

“Do you lack any concept of the appropriate time and place for such topics of conversation?” Galo opened his mouth to respond, and Lio cut him off. “It was a rhetorical question.”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who started making out with me in the middle of the apocalypse.”

Lio braced his legs under himself, trying to ease onto his feet. Galo quickly stood and slipped an arm around his waist to help steady Lio. “Yes. Well.” He had no comeback for that, so he didn’t even try. He held on to Galo for balance—and noticed a dark form slumped, unconscious, but a few paces away. “Is that…?”

“Ah. Yeah, Kray. He was reluctant to let me get in there and save you, but I managed to convince him in the end.”

“…He’s not dead,” Lio said, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.

“No, he’s not.” Galo elbowed him with a teasing gentleness. “Cause Burnish don’t kill.”

And though Galo was not Burnish, he wasn’t entirely _not_ Burnish either, so Lio let it stand. “It’s not over yet.”

“No, suppose not.” Galo glanced around, frowning at the countless thousands of pods lining the walls surrounding them. “…We’ll have to call in some backup to get them all out. And then figure out what to do about the magma. Fennel’s rumbling again, looking like it’s about to blow its top, and no one in the city knows they ought to be taking shelter.”

“Let it rumble. Let it blow its top. Let’s burn the _whole damn thing down_.”

Galo blanched. “ _What_?”

Lio looked back to the pod, suppressing a shudder. “I could hear them, while I was stuck in there… The Promare.” He clutched at Galo’s arm. “They just want to burn! More than we’ve been able to allow them to.”

“Well—yeah, I mean…you mentioned that before…”

Lio shook his head. “No—no, it’s more than that. They’ll _never_ be satisfied with what we Burnish can give them. They’re a living star! And the only thing that can free them, that can give them what they need, let them burn as high and bright as they please…is another star.”

“Another star—the fucking _sun_? You want to…you want us to go to the _sun_?”

“Not _us_ , you idiot,” Lio laughed—and then spared a moment of shock that he was actually _capable_ of laughter. It was, he decided, a resurrection high. “Just the Promare. We need to release them—send them into the sun and let them burn themselves completely out.”

“…And then what?”

“Huh?”

“What happens after you do that?” Galo frowned. “…It won’t hurt you, will it?”

And truthfully, Lio hadn’t a clue. What would happen, if it would hurt them—he just _knew_ this was the right thing to do. It was an urge he hadn’t felt since his awakening, and everything in him ached for it. His will was theirs—and only he had power enough in this dimension to see it through. “I don’t know. I don’t know—but this is _right_ , Galo. This is what we’re supposed to do: Set one last fire. A fire that’ll engulf the _entire_ planet.”

Galo still seemed rather unenthused by the idea, scratching his head with a look of consternation pinching his features. “…Y’know, that _really_ doesn’t sound like it’s something I oughta be involved in. I’m a firefighter—I already lit one fire today, and you want me to light _more_?”

Lio’s lips curved into a wicked grin, and he began to tug Galo toward the pod. “That’s why you’re perfect. Up for one more ride?”

Galo balked. “Wait—me? In _there_?”

“Mmhmm.” Lio stepped inside, looping a finger through Galo’s belt loops to guide him in alongside him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

Galo glanced around at the pod, tapping the struts with a wondering frown. “ _Now_ who’s not thinking about the appropriate time and place?”

Lio chuckled softly, glancing down at his chest. His shirt hung in tatters, held together by but a few fraying threads. After a moment’s thought, he shrugged it off—and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Galo immediately peeled his off as well. 

“Look!” Galo said. “We match now!”

“Fantastic,” Lio drawled, drawing on his flames to lift the pod into the air. Galo grabbed on to his waist with an undignified yelp as the pod lurched, and muttered a few choice words under his breath as they shot up and out of the Parnassus. He set the pod back down atop the frozen ruins of the Lio de Galon—and got to work.

“The Promare are sentient,” he explained as he began methodically melting the ice spears piercing the mech’s body. “They’ve got thoughts and feelings—urges, like anyone else. But they’re trapped in the core, slowly killing our planet as they themselves die. They’re in pain, seeking any outlet they can find. So why not set them free? Let them burn themselves out, as high and hot as they like, in the one place in our solar system they can do so?”

“Sounds like a decent enough plan,” Galo allowed. “But I still don’t see where I come in.” He was peering down at the ruined cockpit and staring longingly at the melted remains of his pilot’s chair.

“Because it’s all about _will_. And it can’t be just mine—it can’t even be just _Burnish_ will. It has to be my urge to burn everything…” He reached out, linking his pinky finger with Galo’s. “And your urge to protect everyone.”

Galo grinned, shaking off Lio’s finger and grabbing his hand wholly, threading their fingers together. “I knew my burning firefighter’s spirit would come in handy one of these days!”

His grin was infectious, and Lio closed his eyes as he felt the last of the armor reinstate, a glossy black that flaked away as Lio began to power up the engines once more to reveal a gleaming white exterior Foresight would have been absolutely _infuriated_ by. Lio didn’t hate it—he didn’t hate it so much, he leered at Galo and offered, “You mind if I name this one?”

Galo was practically vibrating with excitement. “And you gotta strike a cool pose when you do!”

And as it was just the once, Lio decided _what the hell_ , throwing his hands up and shouting, “ _Galo de Lion_ —dispatch!” Galo’s shout of elation was absolutely feral. But Lio wasn’t done quite yet. He synced his concentration with the communications array, calling out in a booming voice, _/To all the Burnish: Please lend us your strength! Let your flames burn as high and bright as you can! Bright enough to burn the whole planet! No more holding back, give it everything you’ve got!/_

Galo squeezed his hand, grabbing onto a handle bolted onto an internal strut for support as the Galo de Lion rumbled to life. “You really think the Burnish trapped in the hold are gonna be enough to…do whatever it is we’re trying to do here?”

“No, I don’t. It needs to be the _entire planet_. Every Burnish who can possibly help—here, across oceans and deserts and mountains. We need them _all_.”

“Uh…” Galo pointed at the control unit. “…You know that thing doesn’t have the range to reach outside of the republic’s borders, right?”

Lio’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. “It doesn’t have to. They’ll feel it, like a call. An urge in their chest they just can’t deny. Once the thousands trapped in Parnassus start, the others won’t be able to resist. It’s like getting caught in a whirlpool.” At least, that was the theory. He hadn’t exactly tested it—but there was no time like the present.

Galo’s hand clutched tight in his own, Lio let his consciousness expand beyond the bounds of his body, the pod, the mech, calling to his fellows’ flames, inviting them to join his own in as grand a bonfire as the world had seen since the Great World Blaze. He felt them all flowing through him again—yet this time, there was no pain, and Galo helped him bear the burden. These were flames of life, of release, of freedom—not destruction. They were capable of so much more—the Burnish _and_ the Promare—than Foresight could comprehend. They were capable of _protection_ , and that was precisely what they would do now by sending the Promare home and thus restoring their world.

_Let me burn let me burn let me burn—_

_Burn burn burn burn burn—_

Lio’s will and that of his Promare twined and twisted, whirling and writhing, and he squeezed Galo’s hand even tighter, using him as a lifeline so as not to lose himself. It would be _so easy_ to join these creatures of life and light and bright burning fusion, to follow them through the warp away from this world and its darkness and cold and misery. But he couldn’t. The others were still waiting for his return, deep in the north, and Galo…Galo was useless without him. And he was a little useless without Galo. Water and oil—never meant to mix, yet here they were, joined as one, saving the whole damn planet from itself.

He drew in a breath, and pushed out everything—Gueira and Meis and Coreolus and Ceresa and countless thousands, tens of thousands of Burnish who he’d never met, would never meet. Maybe they loved their Promare—maybe they feared it. Maybe they’d hate him for this. Maybe he’d be that legend Foresight had jeered he’d be.

“I’m sorry,” Lio whispered, drunk on the cool flames licking at his consciousness, and when he opened his eyes, Galo was beaming down at him, limned in a soft green light.

“For what?”

“…I never got to give you your Burnish cycle.”

Galo made a face—but then shrugged it off. “I’ve got a sweet ride already, parked back at the station. Maybe I can take you out for a spin on it sometime. Mine’s not as finicky as yours, so you could even drive it if you wanted.”

Truth be told, Lio didn’t know if he was even capable of handling a bike that wasn’t made of flame and will. Still, he could give Galo one final gift. He nodded to the handle Galo gripped for dear life. “Give me your other hand.” Galo did so, and Lio took hold with his free hand—it felt a little bit like dancing, though there was no music, no rhythmic swaying, just the quiet, dull roar of the wind and flames and the whole world _burning_.

He extended their arms—and called on his own Promare for what was, he knew in his gut, their final act of will.

Galo made a high keening noise of delight as the Matoi Staff coalesced into being, clutched in the Galo de Lion’s iron grip. He began to wave the staff in a gentle circle, drawing the Burnish flames from every reach. The cool, protective flames washed in a flooding surge over everything, drowning buildings and people, mountains and valleys, until Lio could feel the whole planet was awash in the light of the Promare bubbling up, eager to be released from their prison, to _finally_ be allowed to burn themselves out.

And suddenly it was too much, too too much for even Lio to bear, and he opened himself up to the great emptiness of space, urging the Promare out and _through_ , beyond the reaches of the atmosphere, into that cold dark void and out out out until they found themselves caught in the wild, whirling vortex of the sun. _Burn_ , he told them, _Burn burn burn_.

He could feel their glee racing through him—and his every nerve was alight with joy and relief. It was a heady high, and he _laughed_ , right along with them. He wanted to fly free, wanted to burn too—

But Galo squeezed his hand, rough calloused fingers brushing against his own and keeping him grounded. No, this was where he was meant to be. This was his home. The Promare had brought him this far; it was up to him to recognize where his place was going forward. 

So he let the Promare go, rejoiced as they dove like a flock of birds into the sun and felt their release echo through him, relief washing over in a great rogue wave. He leaned, unconsciously, into Galo, and shivered at every point they touched. 

“…Yeah,” Galo said, low and rough, and Lio just nodded.

And then the Promare came _rushing_ back, spent and sated, and eager to return home. Lio called them back in, letting Galo guide them with that ridiculous staff, and whispered, _Go, burn, forever—thank you._

He could feel himself flaking away again, like before—like Thyma. But there was no pain, only…loss. That bright, burning joy pulling free. He ached to draw it back, wrap it in his arms and hold it close to his chest, and reflexively, he reached out—

_Thank you_ , the Promare whispered back to him, shaving off a final cheeky nip of his fingernail as if to say _you keep a bit of me, I’ll keep a bit of you_ before vanishing in a brilliant flash—and then was gone.

All around them, the Galo de Lion began to power down, systems dying with no more energy fueling the capacitors. Lio felt, of a sudden, dreadfully cold—and he leaned wholly into Galo’s embrace, shuddering. He’d never _felt_ so cold—how could this idiot run around shirtless half the time, in the arctic no less? 

“Easy,” Galo said with a soft chuckle. “Guess that means I’ve gotta buy a heater now, huh…”

“It’s f-f-freezing…” Lio bit out, teeth chattering.

“Eh, it’s breezy. Light sweater weather at best. Don’t be a baby. Here—sit down.”

“I can’t…” Lio protested, even as he allowed Galo to ease him down. When Galo settled beside him, he practically crawled into his lap, sighing when Galo wrapped his burly arms around him. “…We have to go… The others, they’re still in those pods…”

“Yeah—but Burning Rescue’s probably already seeing to them, and I’m gonna be straight with you: we’re like two hundred feet up, and I dunno how to get back down.” Lio laughed, rough and relieved, and let his head fall against Galo’s shoulder. “…So they’re really gone, then?”

Lio touched his chest, frowning. On a whim, he tried to call up the little dragon construct into his palm—and failed. “…They must be…” His throat tightened, and he felt tears pricking his eyes, though he didn’t know why. It was only, he’d lived with his Promare for so long now, been through so _much_ with it, to be so suddenly parted was… 

Galo reached for his hand, drawing it away from his chest and threading their fingers together again. “It’s better this way. For everyone. They’re safe now—and so are you. All of you.” He rubbed a finger over Lio’s knuckles, then said, softer and more serious, “…Thank you. For coming back. For staying. I know that you…I know you wanted to—with them, so…”

Lio cocked his head to the side, caressing Galo’s cheek before brushing their lips together. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” He pressed in close, trying to impress upon Galo the whole of his intent that he couldn’t put into words. He drew back, foreheads touching, and smiled. “Couldn’t give Foresight the satisfaction.”

“He _is_ gonna be mighty pissed off that you survived, there is that.”

“And you mentioned something about a victory parade that I couldn’t miss.”

“No, no, you definitely have _several_ things to look forward to.”

“Do I? Like what?”

“Well, and I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been thinkin’ about this ever since we left Prometh’s facility, but I’ve got a nice little place just on the edge of the cafe district that’s—” Galo jolted, face going slack. “Oh _shit_.”

Lio straightened, immediately on edge. “What? Galo—what is it?”

Galo shook his head, though, rubbing his face. “No, it’s just…” He sighed, glowering at Lio. “… _Someone_ kidnapped me and held me prisoner for, like, the past _three months_. I’ve _totally_ been evicted by now, for sure. They probably burned all my stuff, too!”

Lio did not remind him that he was, technically, dead and probably had bigger problems he was going to have to deal with than restoring his rental agreement.

“…Where will you stay, then?”

Galo shrugged. “Dunno.” He looked at Lio, head cocked. “What about you? Where’re you gonna stay?”

Lio frowned in thought—for his immediate concern was not for his own well-being or even that of the Burnish trapped in the pods. “…I shouldn’t stay anywhere. I should take a team north, back to the settlement. The others—they’ll be vulnerable now, exposed. There’s no heat, no running water, no—”

“Hey.” Galo settled his hands on Lio’s shoulders, giving a little shake. “Why don’t we take these crises one at a time, yeah? First, we wait for Aina to come and rescue us in the Sky Miss—she’s probably on her way as we speak, so we’ll be outta here in no time. Then we’ll get a team heading north—you’ve got coordinates you can give them, right?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“ _But_ you nearly died, Boss. Relax for five minutes and do what leaders do: _delegate_.”

Lio wrinkled his nose. “…I’m no one’s ‘Boss’ anymore…”

“I think I know a few guys who’re gonna be calling you that to your dying day.”

Lio slumped back against Galo, arms crossed over his chest. He leaned his head back, staring up at the sky—it was impossible to tell if it was twilight or dawn. “…It’s a bit scary, is all. I knew what I was before—what I was meant to do. What I was fighting for. Now…now I’m nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Galo snorted. “Maybe you don’t _know_ what you are, but it’s not ‘nothing’. Everyone’s something. And you, Lio Fotia, are _something_.”

Lio cocked his head to the side, brows quirked. “Oh? Even though I can’t make you your armor anymore?”

“I hate to break it to you, Mr. Mad Burnish, but Lucia was always gonna be my armor maker—you were just a side gig until I got back to her.” 

“A _side gig_?” Lio jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow, and Galo recoiled, feigning a mortal blow.

“Hey, easy now—Burnish don’t kill, remember?”

“I’m not Burnish anymore.”

“Huh…” Galo tapped his chin. “…Yeah, I guess you aren’t.” He draped his arms over Lio’s shoulders, leaning forward and resting his chin on Lio’s head. “I bet if you ask her nicely enough, though, Lucia’ll build you some armor of your own.”

“Lucia—is she part of Burning Rescue?” Galo nodded, the gesture reverberating through Lio. “You want _me_ to be on Burning Rescue?” Did he have any idea how ludicrous that sounded?

“Mm. If you want. Just cause you don’t have aliens living inside you anymore doesn’t mean you can’t still help people out. But…”

“…But?”

Galo leaned back, and Lio twisted around to face him. “Whatever you do, it should be what you _want_ to do. Not what you think you should do, or what others say you should do. I feel like you’re the type of person who doesn’t do a lot of things for himself.”

“Oh do you, now? Think you know me so well?”

“No…but I’d like to. If you’ll let me. I think there’s a few things about me I could teach you, too.”

The distant whir of chopper blades whistling through the air grew louder and louder, and Lio leaned in to press his lips against Galo’s, lingering as long as he possibly could before whispering, “…Why don’t you start by teaching me how to ride a motorcycle?”


End file.
